Disclaimer: I do not own The Lone Ranger or anything about it. I do, however, own the idea and anybody who's not explicitly in the movie or whatever. Like the kid. She's mine. You want to use her in your writing? Ask me nicely. I like to be asked nicely.

A Little Bear

Prologue – Very Much Not a Bird

Funny, John Reid felt like his head had just hit the pillow when his eyes cracked open again quite suddenly. Something out there had started making a noise most offensive – he'd heard stories of banshees as a child and he imagined they sounded a touch like that! Maybe he had stayed too long in the city and just forgotten how to identify this kind of bird. He reached over and grabbed a boot, chucking it lopsidedly at Tonto. It landed beside the Indian's head with a thunk and he sat bolt upright, causing his bird's wings to sit askew. Blinking one eye, then the other, the Comanche turned and looked at his associate, straightening the wings without looking.

"Tonto, figure out what's making that noise and blast it…" grunted the still-half-asleep Lone Ranger, turning over in his bedroll and pulling his blanket up. "Sun ain't up yet."

The Indian shuffled out of his own bedroll and poked his head out of the tent to have a look round. Next moment, he stepped all the way out. The sound continued for another few seconds, and then it stopped abruptly. John sat up as the noise stopped and he heard Tonto call out "Kemo-sabe?" That wasn't normal, he reckoned, pushing himself up to his feet and cracking his neck. Still grouchy from having his sleep interrupted, he got up, threw the front flap open, and stomped out of the tent. Stepping over a lizard and taking his own look about, he found Tonto there with an odd look on his face. The Indian stood staring into a wicker basket that seemed to be the source of the sound. Out of habit, he reached up and gave his bird some corn.

"The hell's going on out here?" demanded John, scratching the back of his head and hitching up his trousers in agitation. "Whazzat?"

Without a word, Tonto bent forward and removed something from the basket – a bit of dirty paper with writing on it. He handed the note to the Ranger and furrowed his brow, indicating the basket with a nod of his head. Said basket produced a very grumpy noise. John took the paper and snapped it open. He had to squint, as the printing on the paper matched your average six-year-old boy's in quality. Danny's handwriting was better than that, he noted! After turning it over a few times, he ascertained where the top of the paper started and read the note aloud.

"Please take care of my baby," he started, pulling the paper back to see if the words became clearer. "She is… good baby. Father is Union. I am Creek."

He showed the note to Tonto, who scrunched up his nose.

"Can you read that?" he asked, to which the Indian shook his head. "Let me see… 'Please take… good care of her. I cannot… but I love her. Bless you.'"

All of a sudden extremely awake, John had to swallow hard. He wasn't a man normally given to displays of emotion, but this really hit him hard. Next moment, he crouched beside Tonto and peered into the basket. Inside, the two men found a little bundle of worn, stained blue-and-white blankets with lace trim that had once been pretty. In the bundle, they saw a shock of dark hair over a little brown forehead. A tiny little hand scrubbed at eyes that shocked the both of them – they were green as the grass on the hills! The itty-bitty mouth opened, revealing a toothless grin, and a sound like a gurgling growl tumbled out. Unable to stop himself from smiling like a damn idiot, John reached out and lifted the little bundle from the basket. Tonto arose beside him and took a wide step back. The Ranger opened his mouth to ask why, but an immediate and piercing wail drowned out vocalization.

"She sounds a little upset," John deadpanned, wishing he had a free hand to stuff in his ear. Tonto had both forefingers in his, and even his bird looked perturbed. "Well… Now what?"

The Indian shrugged, his fingers still firmly planted in his ears. Totally out of answers, John tilted his head curiously at Silver. The horse made an irritated snorting noise, shaking his head. If there were really thought bubbles over animals' heads, like in the newspaper cartoons… thought John. The horse obviously wished for two fingers he could shove in his own over-large ears. For lack of anything any more constructive to do, John tried tickling the child under her chin. Tiny fingers seized hold of the digit, transferring it to the little mouth, where it got rather viciously gummed. Well, for better or worse, the action stopped the screaming. It couldn't be good for her little lungs to do that! John looked over at his Indian companion, watching him pull out both fingers with a flourish.

"You know, I reckon she's hungry," stated the Ranger, not trying to retrieve his finger.

Tonto gave him a look that made him feel like he'd grown a donkey's ears and tail.

"This why you ride white horse, Kemo-sabe," the Comanche told him.

The two stared at each other for a moment, determining if anything else needed to be said. When nothing came to mind, John went back into the tent. He set the child on his bedroll and put on his boots – she helpfully cried the entire time. When he came out, he made his way over to where Silver stood tethered. The horse snorted all over John's trousers and then licked the child's head. Green eyes lit up and small, chubby hands reached out for the big, pink nose. She'd stopped screaming for the moment… John couldn't help but pull the little girl up closer to his chest, hiding her behind one coat-flap. A little horse spit never hurt anybody, but she was just a little baby! Tonto held the saddle steady as John tried his best to mount up. The sudden shift of movement and activity level started the battle-cry of the very small up again, so clearly that didn't work! After a moment of concentrated reckoning, John turned very deliberately towards the Comanche. Nodding in understanding, Tonto stretched out both arms. The Ranger wound up standing uncomfortably in the other man's personal space as they transferred the tiny bundle from arm to arm.

"She's quiet for you!" John grumped as he took hold of the saddle horn and swung himself up. He could swear Silver had just laughed at him. "Ah, cool it, livestock!"

The horse tossed his head, yanked the reins from him and stamped irritably. While Tonto held the baby girl and shook his head, the Ranger grabbed the reins and sat back hard. Holding the leather straps in one hand, he turned as carefully as he could and stretched out his arm. Tonto scowled, but gave up the little bundle without verbal complaint and went to un-tether Scout. The second she was in John's care again, the tiny girl began to screech at tip-top volume! The Paint horse awoke with a snort, annoyed at being disturbed. Tonto said something in Comanche and Scout seemed to understand, allowing the Indian on his back without further issue. John sounded the advance and the two rode off to the sound of a screaming. Cracking his neck again, the Ranger offered his finger again. The ferocious gumming resumed and the noise ceased.

With Silver and Scout's noses turned towards Colby, John started to chew over what the hell he and Tonto had gotten into this time.