TONTO
The men were at the breakfast table when Penny entered the big dining
room. She returned their abbreviated greetings and then took her seat to
surround herself with the same wall of silence that seemed to confine
everyone at every meal. The cousins, her uncle, and Penny had no common
denominator of conversation. Though the food was good and well prepared,
it all seemed flat and tasteless in the strained atmosphere of the
Cavendish house. Nothing was said of Vince's absence for the past few
days. It was taken for granted that Mort would eat well with the others,
while his wife ate otherwise with her brood.
Penny was relieved when the meal was finished and she could leave the
house. She avoided the swelling puddles between the house and the
corral. It was easy to find her own mustang, Las Vegas. The small,
strong beast advanced to meet her.
A man came from the saddle shed carrying her saddle and bridle on his
arm. "Sawtell," she remembered. Another of the new employees. Sawtell
was easier to look at than Rangoon, but he wore an expression on his
bland face that made one feel that he was sneering constantly.
"Saw yuh in the ridin' outfit," he said, "so I brought your leather."
"Thanks," said Penny shortly.
Sawtell seemed inclined to talk while he cinched up Las Vegas. "Not much
of a day for ridin'. Looks like it'll clear up by noon, though. Might be
better for you to wait."
"I like to ride in the rain," said Penny. Her face lighted as a thought
possessed her. "Have you ever ridden up the side of Thunder Mountain?"
she asked.
Sawtell looked at her quickly. After a pause, he said, "Why?"
"When I was younger, they used to tell me that no one could ride through
the tangle of weeds and things on that mountain."
Sawtell nodded with a trace of a squint in his eyes.
"But," continued Penny, "I went there anyway, and I found a trail that
could be followed right up to the peak. I wonder if that trail is still
there."
Sawtell shook his head slowly. "I know about that trail," he said, "but
it's all overgrown now and you'd break the leg of a horse you tried to
ride up there."
Penny couldn't conceal her disappointment. She mounted gracefully and
swung Las Vegas away from the group of buildings.
Most of Penny's enthusiasm for her ride was dissolved by the statement
that the old trail up Thunder Mountain was gone. She gazed wistfully at
the huge tangle of green things that rose to such majestic heights.
"Darn it, Las Vegas," she complained to the mustang, "everything's
changed here."
She looked back toward the house and noticed that in riding without a
definite direction she had unconsciously followed the route of her
explorations of another day. She had placed the saddle shed between her
and the house so that Uncle Bryant, if watching, would not see where she
went.
She pulled off her hat and drew the pins from her hair. It fell in soft
waves, which were rapidly becoming wet, to her shoulders. Thunder
rumbled somewhere overhead and rain beat her cheeks. She seemed to feel
an uplifting as the wind swept her hair straight out. She thrilled to
the stinging rain like an old salt returning to the spray of the sea.
She slapped Las Vegas on the rump. "Come on!" she cried. Las Vegas
dropped his ears and went.
The horse stopped at the foot of Thunder Mountain where the tall brush
and dense trees blocked the way. He turned his head as if to question
Penny: "Right or left, which will it be?" This was the spot where the
old trail had once begun. Penny glanced back toward the distant ranch
house and the buildings that surrounded it. Sawtell had said the trail
was now impassable. Penny was in the mood that Uncle Bryant had once
termed "cussed contrariness."
"Well, what're we waiting for?" she called to Las Vegas. "Are you scared
of a few shrubs?" She heeled the mustang, at the same time whacking her
hat against his flank. "_Giddup!_"
The mustang lunged into the tangle. Thorns tore at his fetlocks and
raked his sides. Penny was nearly swept from the saddle by a low branch.
Brush slapped and scratched her. Only a streak of Cavendish
stubbornness, and the fact that it was almost impossible to turn, kept
her going. Las Vegas seemed determined to make the girl regret her
decision as he plunged ahead.
Then, surprisingly, the trail ahead was clear. Without warning the path
widened where the brush had been carefully cut back. The route went
around treacherous holes and rocks that were too large to move.
Lopped-off branches tossed to one side showed that the trail was
man-made, not accidental.
This puzzled her. Sawtell had told the truth about the first hundred
yards, but he had been mistaken about the part of the path the girl now
rode. Interwoven branches of trees overhead blocked out a great deal of
the rain. There was just a gentle dripping that would probably continue
long after the rain had actually stopped.
Penny took her watch from the small waterproof envelope that was pinned
to her shirt. She thought she might have time to ride all the way to the
top of Thunder Mountain if the path remained as clean as it was at
present. Now that she no longer had to concentrate on staying in the
saddle, her thoughts went back to the scene in her room when Becky had
called. If it hadn't been for the peculiar meeting between Mort, Vince,
and Rangoon, she might have thought less of Becky's warning. All things
considered, however, she felt certain that there was something
definitely wrong in Bryant's Basin. What was it that Becky had started
to say about her uncle's eyes? What had she overheard in the clump of
cottonwoods? Penny had no intention of following Rebecca's advice. She
was quite determined to stay in the Basin and see what happened next.
Bryant's eyes--what about them? Perhaps she could persuade Rebecca to
say more when she saw her later in the day. She'd call on her in the
humble shack and have a talk. Perhaps if she were there when Mort came
in after his day's work Rebecca would be spared some of her husband's
violence.
Penny's thoughts were broken when she had to rein up suddenly. The trail
ahead was blocked by the most magnificent horse that the girl had ever
seen. Pure white, with muscles that rippled in a way that made his coat
gleam like sparkling silver, he stood there and looked at her.
Penny dismounted, holding the reins of her horse while she advanced
toward the white beast. "Gosh!" she breathed in admiration. "What a
horse! Here, fellow!" She held a hand before her, but the white horse
stood motionless. The girl moved one step nearer, and the white horse
backed slowly.
"Don't be afraid of me," the girl said, "I want to be friends."
"Silver not make-um friends."
Penny swung, startled, toward the thick, guttural voice. Then she saw
the Indian.
He was tall, fully six feet, without the advantage of heels. He was clad
in buckskin and moccasins. His face was broad and characteristically
high-cheekboned. Hair was drawn straight back from a part in the middle
and done in a war knot low on the back of his head. Heavy revolvers, of
the most modern make, swung from his waist, were a somewhat incongruous
touch. A bow and arrows would have been more in keeping with the rest of
the Indian's equipment.
The Indian was a striking-looking man. His face showed interest in the
girl; intellect was indicated in his forehead. In his deep, dark eyes,
instead of hostility there was a warm friendliness.
"I--I was admiring your horse," the girl stammered.
"That not my horse. My horse yonder."
Penny looked beyond the white horse, where the Indian pointed, and for
the first time noticed that the trail had widened to a clearing fully
thirty yards across. The open space was bordered by huge trees, and just
beyond one of the largest of these she saw a paint horse.
"My horse there," the red man said. "This horse not mine. This horse
name 'Silver.'"
"Silver," repeated the girl. "It certainly suits him." She thought her
uncle would delight in owning such a beast.
"Is--is Silver for sale?" she asked.
The Indian's face showed a faint trace of a smile, as he shook his head
slowly.
There was a somewhat awkward period of silence. The Indian stood as if
waiting for Penny to make the next move. She had a fleeting thought that
she should have been afraid. She knew that she was far from anyone who
might help her. Yet she felt quite at ease. The Indian had been friendly
so far, respectful too, and there was something magnetic about his
personality.
"Me Tonto," the Indian finally said.
"Tonto--is that your name?"
The man nodded.
"Do you live here?"
"No'm," replied Tonto, "me stop-um here short time. Maybe leave soon."
Then Penny saw the crude lean-to fashioned from spreading branches of
pine. Inside there was considerable duffle, packed for quick loading on
a horse. "Do you mind," said Penny with an impulsiveness that later
surprised her when she thought of it, "if I sit in your lean-to and get
out of the rain for a few minutes?"
Tonto looked a bit surprised, then glad that he was so trusted by the
girl. He seemed to be bending every effort to put her at ease.
When she stepped on the soft boughs of evergreen that carpeted the
lean-to, the Indian removed his belt and the heavy revolvers and tossed
them on the floor close to her. "Me not need guns now," he muttered.
Penny understood, and appreciated the red man's gesture. He was putting
his only weapons where she could reach them if she cared to. He remained
just outside the roof of the small shelter, ignoring the drizzle as he
sat on the trunk of a fallen tree.
"I'm from the Basin," the girl explained. "I used to come up this trail
a lot, but it was always pretty hard riding. It's been cleared since the
last time I used it."
The Indian nodded. "That plenty strange," he muttered.
Penny looked at him sharply. "Strange? Why?"
Tonto didn't reply. He seemed deeply preoccupied. "Do any of the men
from the Basin ride this way?" asked Penny after a pause.
Tonto didn't reply.
"Who owns the white horse?"
There was another pause; then Tonto said, "My friend." The way he said
it was peculiarly impressive. Penny wondered if the friend were another
Indian or a white man. She said, "Does your friend live in the Basin?"
Once more the Indian gave a negative shake of his head.
"Where is he now?"
"Him plenty sick. Tonto come here, look for feller to ride by. Get food
for friend."
Penny could be very adroit at questioning when she chose. She talked
with the big Indian at length and learned that his friend was close to
death. She further learned that men from Bryant's Basin had been known
to travel on the Thunder Mountain trail. This surprised her. Tonto
needed certain kinds of food for his friend, food which couldn't be shot
or caught with hook and line, and he was waiting to take what he needed
from the first men who rode through the clearing. As Penny listened to
what Tonto said, she felt herself becoming keenly interested in his
needs. She tried to determine which of the Basin men had used the
Thunder Mountain trail, but Tonto couldn't describe them. He knew only
what he'd read in the hoofmarks on the ground.
It was a day of surprises, and most of all Penny was surprised at
herself. Before she realized what she had done, she had promised to ride
back to the Basin and secure the things that Tonto needed. The look of
gratitude that showed in the Indian's face was a thing to behold. It was
radiant and said "thanks" more effectively than any spoken words.
Then Penny mounted Las Vegas and started her return.
"I must be a darn fool," she told Las Vegas. "I don't know what
possessed me to make me promise to take food to that Indian. If Uncle
Bryant knew about it, he'd be frantic. He mustn't know."
She rode in silence for a time. She tried to tell herself that she was
working in the interests of her uncle in taking food back to the
clearing. Further talk with Tonto might bring out more facts concerning
men from the Basin who rode on Thunder Mountain secretly. Yet, in her
heart, the girl knew this wasn't the real reason for helping the Indian
named Tonto. It was something far more subtle; something she couldn't
name; something that moved her when she heard Tonto say, "My friend."