"That all men are created equal and that everyone has within himself the power to make this a better world."
Tonto opened his eyes slowly, blinking a few times as a bright ray of sunlight slipped over the edge of the cave entrance and into his face. He had not moved at all since he'd fallen asleep, and his muscles protested stiffly as his lifted his chin. He stretched his arms out above his head, wincing as his spine cracked unhappily, and rubbed a tired hand across the back of his neck. He tilted his head up at the sky, judging the position of the sun, and let out a startled gasp of surprise. The morning was half gone! Tonto turned to check on his friend, but froze when he saw that the man was awake.
He was laying very still, the arm of his bandaged shoulder resting across his bare stomach, regarding him quietly with his good eye. He blinked slowly, as if this small motion took more energy than he could spare. "Ta-i, Tonto."
Tonto smiled, pleased that he remembered the greeting. "Ta-i, Kemosabe," he answered, but then frowned. "How long you awake?"
"Maybe an hour."
Tonto made a disapproving noise. "Why you not wake me?" he asked as he picked up the bowl of cold soup from the uneven stone table and set it at the edge of the campfire. "You plenty thirsty. Me know. Too long." He used a stick to stir up the glowing coals of the fire, and fed it a few small branches to get it going. The ranger had not replied, and Tonto wondered if he'd fallen asleep again, but when he looked back he found he was still being watched.
A small, tired smile lifted a corner of the ranger's mouth. "You looked like you needed it."
Tonto shook his head. "Me sleep plenty later," he said. "Soup warm soon."
Kemosabe glanced at the bowl heating up by the flames, and then began to sit up.
Tonto twisted around swiftly, raising an arm to stop him. "Not move!"
The ranger groaned, falling back suddenly as a wave of vertigo struck him, and pressed a hand to the bandages wrapped about his skull as every drop of blood drained from his face. Tonto sighed when Kemosabe leaned over the side of the saddle and retched. He stayed bent over, panting, as Tonto dipped a spare bandana into the pool.
"Why you do that, Kemosabe?" Tonto asked, making no effort to hide his dismay. Kemosabe was an adept healer, better than himself, and should have known better.
Tonto gave him the cloth to wipe his face. There wasn't much of a mess, as he'd not eaten anything solid in at least a full day. When he'd gotten his breath back, the ranger looked toward the mouth of the cave and after several long seconds he turned slowly to look back at Tonto. Tonto frowned, not understanding the uncomfortable look of embarrassment that was creeping over his friend's face.
"Too much soup," the ranger said.
Tonto relaxed, relieved the problem was so simple. He picked up a bowl from near the campfire and held it out.
Kemosabe's eyes widened with a look of dawning horror.
"You not move," Tonto warned sternly. There was no point debating the issue, and they both knew it. There was apology in Tonto's eyes as he offered the bowl again, but he would not allow the man to risk aggravating his injuries for the sake of pride.
The ranger reluctantly accepted the solution, his mouth drawn in a tight, unhappy frown.
"Me go check trap," Tonto said, getting to his feet. He could at least offer him some privacy. The ranger watched him leave, bowl in hand, without comment.
His own needs attended to, Tonto's blade then made short work of the rabbit caught by the trap. He reset the trap, gave Scout a friendly pat on his way back to the cave, and laid the carcass across a rock near the campfire. Kemosabe would not meet his eyes as Tonto collected the bowl, disposed of its contents, then rinsed it out. He set it back down near the ranger, in case it was needed later, but said nothing as he returned to the fire.
Tonto used a wooden spoon to stir the bowl of soup, checking that it was not too hot, and passed it to Kemosabe. The ranger accepted it with a wan little smile of thanks. Tonto returned the smile, then set about filling his pot with water. He carved up the rabbit, snapping the largest bones so that the marrow was exposed, before adding it to the pot.
When Tonto returned his attention to his friend, it was to see that he was dozing, the half eaten bowl of soup resting on the cave floor. Tonto moved to sit beside him, picked up the bowl, and tapped his shoulder to wake him. Kemosabe blinked sleepily at him.
"Must finish," Tonto said, holding up the bowl for him to see.
"Later, Tonto," the ranger said, his eyes drifting closed. "Tired."
"No, Kemosabe," Tonto insisted. "This good medicine."
The ranger opened his eyes again, but the morning's efforts had drained what little energy he'd gained from healing. Tonto scooped up a spoonful and held it out to him. "Me help, Kemosabe."
Being too weak to take care of one's basic needs, forced to rely on some one else, was a humbling experience. It was one Tonto was well familiar with, though it had been easier to accept as a child. This man was strong and brave and did not wish to be fed by hand.
"Heal faster, grow stronger," Tonto said quietly.
Kemosabe took a slow, deep breath. He was not too proud or stubborn to accept help when he needed it. It took a little while, but eventually the bowl was empty and Tonto helped him lie back against the saddle.
"Thanks, Tonto," Kemosabe muttered, already half asleep.
Tonto tended to the rabbit until it was done, ate his fill, then set the pot back near the edge of the fire to simmer into a rich broth for later. He chopped some firewood and gathered kindling for perhaps an hour or two, and saw that the ranger was awake again when he returned.
Pleased that his friend was waking more often today, Tonto poured a measure of the broth into a bowl. It was important that the injured man get enough fluids, and Tonto had found that many small meals a couple hours apart worked well. Kemosabe had been staring up at the roof of the cave, but looked at him as Tonto sat down on the cave floor at his side.
All thought of food fled from Tonto's thoughts.
A man might think that surviving a disaster might be cause for celebration. That living when others had not might make a man grateful to whatever divine powers he pledged allegiance. This was not true, not always.
Tonto's people had not died without a fight. He had tried to join the defense of his tribe, but he'd been only a boy. The memory of his friends and family being cut down around him while the smoke from their burning homes choked the air and horses screamed in panic had tormented him for many years. Tonto had been driven – still was – to atone for the price of his survival at the expense of those he loved.
The pain would never be truly gone, but, like most wounds, had faded with time. Kemosabe's pain was fresh and raw, and made Tonto's soul ache. It was unsettling to see such light eyes, eyes he'd always remembered as being full of hope and the simple joy of living, darkened now by grief, guilt, and anger.
Words had never been one of Tonto's strengths, and he had none to ease the haunted look of loss. All he had to offer was a sharing of the pain through knowledge gained from a similar experience. When he finally spoke, his voice was made even deeper than his usual low timbre, and rough with emotion. "Tonto understand."
Kemosabe had always been the one who had the right words, but he said nothing now. The silence stretched between them, heavy enough that it seemed one could reach out and touch it, but also as ethereal as smoke. It filled the tiny cave, twining about two men from very different worlds and uniting them with something that mere language could never hope to describe.
It was only when his lungs demanded oxygen that Tonto realized he'd stopped using them. The breath he took seemed loud, and the silence evaporated. Something changed in Kemosabe's face, lifting a shade of the darkness in his eyes. It looked as if he wanted to say something, but the powerful moment had exhausted him. Though he tried to fight it, his eyelids fluttered closed into a sleep that bordered on unconsciousness.
Tonto looked down at the bowl of broth in his hands. It would have been good for Kemosabe to have eaten... but the spirit had needed sustenance more than the body. He set it aside for now, knowing that it would keep for the hour or so that the ranger would likely rest before waking again.
Kemosabe spent most of the day in and out of asleep as the sun made its slow journey across the sky. He seemed to have come to an acceptance of the situation, and made no protests when Tonto changed the bandages or helped him eat. Tonto was not quite sure when he'd made the decision, but he did not leave the cave except for once when Kemosabe had to make use of the bowl.
While his friend slept, Tonto occupied himself with repairing some damage to the second saddle, then mending his blanket and extra clothing (a chore he'd been putting off for over a week). He had collected a small arsenal of guns from the dead rangers, and he cleaned and oiled each one. Simple tasks that did not really need to be done, but served a purpose and kept his hands busy.
Tonto checked on the ranger often as he worked. Sometimes he found Kemosabe staring up at the roof of their rocky shelter, and sometimes he'd be watching Tonto, but he did not speak. Tonto was too familiar with the conflicting, alternating need to be alone and in the company of another to do anything but honor the silence. If Kemosabe could draw some measure of solace from his presence, then he would gladly give it. Words were not needed.
Tonto prepared the evening meal as the sun sank below the horizon, using up most of the travel rations. Tomorrow, he would need to do some hunting. He was familiar with this valley, and knew where many plants and herbs grew. They would not go hungry. Kemosabe was strong enough to hold his bowl of stew, and finished the entire thing without any aid. Tonto smiled, pleased, and Kemosabe returned it for the first time since they'd spoken.
Tonto stifled a yawn as they sat together in companionable silence and listened to the fire crackle. It did not seem as though he had done much work that day, but he felt drained. He had remade his bed closer to Kemosabe after repairing the bedroll, and wearily settled into it now. He turned his head to check one more time on his friend, expecting to find him asleep already, but he was quietly watching him again.
"Good night, Tonto," the ranger said.
Tonto hummed a sleepy response, his eyes already growing too heavy to keep them open. "Mno dbeke, Kemosabe."