by Fran Striker
Chapter V
TONTO
The men were at the breakfast table when Penny entered the big diningroom. She returned their abbreviated greetings and then took her seat tosurround herself with the same wall of silence that seemed to confineeveryone at every meal. The cousins, her uncle, and Penny had no commondenominator of conversation. Though the food was good and well prepared,it all seemed flat and tasteless in the strained atmosphere of theCavendish house. Nothing was said of Vince's absence for the past fewdays. 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 thehouse. She avoided the swelling puddles between the house and thecorral. 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 hisarm. "Sawtell," she remembered. Another of the new employees. Sawtellwas easier to look at than Rangoon, but he wore an expression on hisbland 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 muchof a day for ridin'. Looks like it'll clear up by noon, though. Might bebetter for you to wait."
"I like to ride in the rain," said Penny. Her face lighted as a thoughtpossessed 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 throughthe 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 thatcould be followed right up to the peak. I wonder if that trail is stillthere."
Sawtell shook his head slowly. "I know about that trail," he said, "butit's all overgrown now and you'd break the leg of a horse you tried toride up there."
Penny couldn't conceal her disappointment. She mounted gracefully andswung Las Vegas away from the group of buildings.
Most of Penny's enthusiasm for her ride was dissolved by the statementthat the old trail up Thunder Mountain was gone. She gazed wistfully atthe huge tangle of green things that rose to such majestic heights."Darn it, Las Vegas," she complained to the mustang, "everything'schanged here."
She looked back toward the house and noticed that in riding without adefinite direction she had unconsciously followed the route of herexplorations of another day. She had placed the saddle shed between herand the house so that Uncle Bryant, if watching, would not see where shewent.
She pulled off her hat and drew the pins from her hair. It fell in softwaves, which were rapidly becoming wet, to her shoulders. Thunderrumbled somewhere overhead and rain beat her cheeks. She seemed to feelan uplifting as the wind swept her hair straight out. She thrilled tothe 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 Vegasdropped his ears and went.
The horse stopped at the foot of Thunder Mountain where the tall brushand dense trees blocked the way. He turned his head as if to questionPenny: "Right or left, which will it be?" This was the spot where theold trail had once begun. Penny glanced back toward the distant ranchhouse and the buildings that surrounded it. Sawtell had said the trailwas now impassable. Penny was in the mood that Uncle Bryant had oncetermed "cussed contrariness."
"Well, what're we waiting for?" she called to Las Vegas. "Are you scaredof a few shrubs?" She heeled the mustang, at the same time whacking herhat against his flank. "_Giddup!_"
The mustang lunged into the tangle. Thorns tore at his fetlocks andraked his sides. Penny was nearly swept from the saddle by a low branch.Brush slapped and scratched her. Only a streak of Cavendishstubbornness, and the fact that it was almost impossible to turn, kepther going. Las Vegas seemed determined to make the girl regret herdecision as he plunged ahead.
Then, surprisingly, the trail ahead was clear. Without warning the pathwidened where the brush had been carefully cut back. The route wentaround treacherous holes and rocks that were too large to move.Lopped-off branches tossed to one side showed that the trail wasman-made, not accidental.
This puzzled her. Sawtell had told the truth about the first hundredyards, but he had been mistaken about the part of the path the girl nowrode. Interwoven branches of trees overhead blocked out a great deal ofthe rain. There was just a gentle dripping that would probably continuelong after the rain had actually stopped.
Penny took her watch from the small waterproof envelope that was pinnedto her shirt. She thought she might have time to ride all the way to thetop of Thunder Mountain if the path remained as clean as it was atpresent. Now that she no longer had to concentrate on staying in thesaddle, her thoughts went back to the scene in her room when Becky hadcalled. If it hadn't been for the peculiar meeting between Mort, Vince,and Rangoon, she might have thought less of Becky's warning. All thingsconsidered, however, she felt certain that there was somethingdefinitely wrong in Bryant's Basin. What was it that Becky had startedto say about her uncle's eyes? What had she overheard in the clump ofcottonwoods? Penny had no intention of following Rebecca's advice. Shewas quite determined to stay in the Basin and see what happened next.Bryant's eyes--what about them? Perhaps she could persuade Rebecca tosay more when she saw her later in the day. She'd call on her in thehumble shack and have a talk. Perhaps if she were there when Mort camein after his day's work Rebecca would be spared some of her husband'sviolence.
Penny's thoughts were broken when she had to rein up suddenly. The trailahead was blocked by the most magnificent horse that the girl had everseen. Pure white, with muscles that rippled in a way that made his coatgleam like sparkling silver, he stood there and looked at her.
Penny dismounted, holding the reins of her horse while she advancedtoward the white beast. "Gosh!" she breathed in admiration. "What ahorse! Here, fellow!" She held a hand before her, but the white horsestood motionless. The girl moved one step nearer, and the white horsebacked 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 sawthe Indian.
He was tall, fully six feet, without the advantage of heels. He was cladin buckskin and moccasins. His face was broad and characteristicallyhigh-cheekboned. Hair was drawn straight back from a part in the middleand done in a war knot low on the back of his head. Heavy revolvers, ofthe most modern make, swung from his waist, were a somewhat incongruoustouch. A bow and arrows would have been more in keeping with the rest ofthe Indian's equipment.
The Indian was a striking-looking man. His face showed interest in thegirl; 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 forthe first time noticed that the trail had widened to a clearing fullythirty yards across. The open space was bordered by huge trees, and justbeyond one of the largest of these she saw a paint horse.
"My horse there," the red man said. "This horse not mine. This horsename 'Silver.'"
"Silver," repeated the girl. "It certainly suits him." She thought heruncle 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 headslowly.
There was a somewhat awkward period of silence. The Indian stood as ifwaiting for Penny to make the next move. She had a fleeting thought thatshe should have been afraid. She knew that she was far from anyone whomight help her. Yet she felt quite at e
ase. The Indian had been friendlyso far, respectful too, and there was something magnetic about hispersonality.
"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 ofpine. Inside there was considerable duffle, packed for quick loading ona horse. "Do you mind," said Penny with an impulsiveness that latersurprised her when she thought of it, "if I sit in your lean-to and getout of the rain for a few minutes?"
Tonto looked a bit surprised, then glad that he was so trusted by thegirl. He seemed to be bending every effort to put her at ease.
When she stepped on the soft boughs of evergreen that carpeted thelean-to, the Indian removed his belt and the heavy revolvers and tossedthem on the floor close to her. "Me not need guns now," he muttered.Penny understood, and appreciated the red man's gesture. He was puttinghis only weapons where she could reach them if she cared to. He remainedjust outside the roof of the small shelter, ignoring the drizzle as hesat on the trunk of a fallen tree.
"I'm from the Basin," the girl explained. "I used to come up this traila lot, but it was always pretty hard riding. It's been cleared since thelast 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 menfrom 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 saidit was peculiarly impressive. Penny wondered if the friend were anotherIndian 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 foodfor friend."
Penny could be very adroit at questioning when she chose. She talkedwith the big Indian at length and learned that his friend was close todeath. She further learned that men from Bryant's Basin had been knownto travel on the Thunder Mountain trail. This surprised her. Tontoneeded certain kinds of food for his friend, food which couldn't be shotor caught with hook and line, and he was waiting to take what he neededfrom the first men who rode through the clearing. As Penny listened towhat Tonto said, she felt herself becoming keenly interested in hisneeds. She tried to determine which of the Basin men had used theThunder Mountain trail, but Tonto couldn't describe them. He knew onlywhat he'd read in the hoofmarks on the ground.
It was a day of surprises, and most of all Penny was surprised atherself. Before she realized what she had done, she had promised to rideback to the Basin and secure the things that Tonto needed. The look ofgratitude that showed in the Indian's face was a thing to behold. It wasradiant 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 whatpossessed me to make me promise to take food to that Indian. If UncleBryant 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 wasworking in the interests of her uncle in taking food back to theclearing. Further talk with Tonto might bring out more facts concerningmen from the Basin who rode on Thunder Mountain secretly. Yet, in herheart, the girl knew this wasn't the real reason for helping the Indiannamed Tonto. It was something far more subtle; something she couldn'tname; something that moved her when she heard Tonto say, "My friend."
