"That God put the firewood there but that every man must gather and light it himself."

Tonto woke with the sun the next day, feeling much better for the solid night's rest.

Kemosabe was still asleep, so Tonto went to check on the trap. It was empty, however - the animals in this valley knew to avoid the cave now. He considered moving it, but in the end he took it apart and decided to return to the cave for now and do some hunting later.

Kemosabe woke with a sudden start as Tonto was stirring a leftover bowl of stew to loosen it. "Tonto?" Tonto set the bowl down at the edge of the fire to warm and moved to within view. The ranger looked confused for a moment, and looked around. "I must have drifted off again."

Tonto gave him a little smile of understanding, but didn't say anything.

The ranger looked around the cave again as if seeing it for the first time. Tonto had ended up unpacking the entire contents of both saddlebags, making use of almost everything at hand. A space had been cleared to serve as a workstation when he'd been doing repairs and tending to the guns. The place had the lived in feeling of a home more than a temporary camp. "How long have I been here now?"

"Three day," Tonto answered, his spirits rising quickly. For the first time, Kemosabe's gaze was unclouded and alert. "How you feel?"

"Still a little weak," the ranger replied honestly. He drew a slow breath, as if preparing himself for the next words. "The other rangers, Tonto... all dead?"

Tonto nodded, and hummed a low tone of regret.

The ranger sighed. Tonto was certain he'd already known the answer, but it was a question he'd had to ask now that his head was clear. There was a new resolve in Kemosabe's eyes that Tonto did not understand. "One of them, Captain Reid, was my brother."

Tonto's shoulders slouched with regret and he shook his head sadly. "Too bad. Rangers all good men."

The ranger's eyes unfocused, seeing something else. "We didn't have a chance, Tonto. It was a perfect ambush and double cross." He did not dwell on it for long, however, and soon returned to the present. He tilted his head at Tonto in curiosity. "How did you happen to find me?"

"Me hunt here in canyon often," Tonto replied. "Ride in on Scout, over yonder," he continued, and gestured to the front of the cave. The ranger followed the motion, turning his head to regard the unsaddled brown and white horse. "Find rangers and dead horse."

"I see."

"While you sleep, me bury other rangers over there," Tonto continued, and Kemosabe's eyes tracked where he pointed. "Make graves for men. Bring belongings here," Tonto finished, lowering his hand to indicate the small pile of clothing, hats, gun belts, and mementos in a neat stack beside the ranger.

The ranger stared at the collection for a moment before looking back up. "That was good of you, Tonto."

Tonto did not know what to say. Kemosabe had buried most of a village while the lone survivor healed, and Tonto's efforts here seemed so small in comparison. Mere words did not seem like enough, but his friend was silent, waiting. "Them brave men."

"Yes, they were brave," Kemosabe agreed. His voice hardened, and Tonto unconsciously drew himself up straighter in attention. "And they won't be forgotten. I've spent a lot of time thinking. For every one of those men, I'm going to bring a hundred men to justice. I'll make that Cavandish gang – and every criminal I can find for that matter – regret the day those rangers were killed." Tonto's breath stilled in his chest at the sudden intensity of Kemosabe's gaze. "Tonto, from this moment on, I'm going to devote my life to establishing law and order in this new frontier," the ranger vowed. "To make the west a decent place to live."

"That good!" Tonto said, glad that his friend had come out of this with renewed determination to continue as a lawman. It was good to see the spirit of purpose returning, but Tonto frowned in concern. He'd heard of these outlaws, for they'd been terrorizing the area for some time. He glanced at the row of graves in the sun beyond the cave entrance before looking back at his friend. "But when Cavandish gang know you escape ambush, you marked man. They hunt you down, many against one."

The ranger nodded, having already considered this. "No one's going to know I'm alive," he explained. "I'm supposed to be dead, and I'm going to stay that way. I'll hide my identity somehow. I'll wear a disguise of some sort."

Tonto quickly warmed to the plan. "You mean like mask?"

The ranger's eyebrows rose, suddenly struck by inspiration. "That's it, Tonto. From now on I'll wear a mask." He looked down at the stack of items beside him, and began to sift through it. "Let's see... there ought to be some material here I can use." He set aside a few things, and then suddenly stopped. He lifted a black vest. It had several small bullet holes in it, each stiff with dried blood. The ranger blinked several times, and swallowed thickly. "Here... this."

Tonto drew his knife, but went still again as the ranger's fingers curled into the material and he brought it to his chest. "My bother's vest. Belonged to one of the bravest of them all."

Tonto could see that the intensity of the moment was quickly sapping the strength of the ranger, and his friend looked surprised but did not resist as Tonto gently took the vest from him. "Me help, Kemosabe. You rest now."

The ranger hesitated reluctantly, but was too drained to protest. "All right, Tonto. Thanks." Tonto switched the bundle of fabric to his knife hand so he could help the ranger lay back down until he was satisfied that he was comfortable. The stew would wait. The man was asleep again within seconds.

Tonto lifted his blade to cut into the material, but after a few seconds he set the knife down again. He unpinned the bloodied Texas Ranger badge, carefully set it back in the pile, then drew the vest through his fingers. It was made of a heavy, durable cloth with a white silken lining on the inside. Tonto's thumb absently moved over the fabric as he looked towards the graves again.

There were many differences between the native peoples of this land and the colonists from across the great oceans, but Tonto was more inclined to see the things they had in common. The white man did things differently, but often for the same reasons. The braves of his tribe would paint the faces of their comrades when they prepared for battle, and this is what Tonto felt was happening now. He looked down at the cloth, flexing it in his hands as he studied it. If this was to be the warpaint Kemosabe chose to wear while he avenged the death of his brother and fellow rangers, then Tonto would not simply carve out a strip and poke eye holes in it.

Tonto was not a tailor, but he was no stranger to a sewing needle. He'd been traveling alone for a very long time, and he knew how to wash and mend his own clothing. Tonto gave the matter some thought, planning out every step he would take in crafting this mask until he felt confident enough to put his blade to use. He cut a diagonal band from the back of the garment, from top to bottom, avoiding any damaged part. Without anything to hold them together, the soft lining fell away from the courser material of the vest.

Tonto carefully unwrapped the bandages from around the ranger's head, pleased to see that the wound was continuing to heal well. The bruising was much lighter and the swollen eye was almost back to normal. It was the combined concussion, loss of blood, and Tonto's very potent healing herbal broths that was causing him to sleep so much. He decided it no longer needed to be bandaged. For now, however, Tonto had a different goal.

He dipped the length of cloth into the pool, then wrung it out. The ranger stirred when Tonto laid the wet material across his eyes, but he'd become accustomed to having the bandages changed and so did not wake. Tonto smoothed the cloth out over Kemosabe's face, then pressed his fingers into it to mold it to his features. He used the very tip of his knife to lightly score the cloth, making sure the area he traced around the eyes was large enough for none of his vision to be blocked.

When he had the pattern he wanted, Tonto laid the mask across a rock and began to cut away the extra cloth. The Cavandish gang was large, strong, and well organized. Tonto did not doubt that Kemosabe would eventually bring them down, but it might take a while. He might need to wear this mask for long stretches at a time, in all manners of weather. It needed to fit well and be comfortable. Tonto cut a matching pattern from the lining, then sewed the two halves together. He then hemmed the long ties on the sides of the mask, so that the edges would not fray. He chose a simple, basic stitch that everyone in his tribe knew, but Tonto used painstaking care with each pull of the thread.

When at last he was done, he checked the mask over for any flaws. He found none, and smiled in satisfaction.

"It looks good, Tonto." Tonto looked up, startled. Kemosabe was watching him, and smiled at his surprise. Tonto had no idea how long he'd been awake, and realized he had not checked on his friend in several hours. The ranger held out his hand. "May I see it?"

Tonto hesitated, suddenly self-conscious, before passing it to him.

Kemosabe's smile faded as he drew the length of cloth through his hands, and felt the soft lining on the inside of the mask. He slowly ran the tips of his fingers over the tiny, careful stitches that were not in a white man's pattern but were instead a distinctive trademark of Tonto's people. The ranger stared down at it, unmoving, for a long time and Tonto began to worry that he was displeased.

When he finally looked up, however, his eyes were shining. "This is beautiful."

Tonto smiled with pride as Kemosabe looked back down at the mask in admiration. He hadn't realized he'd spent so much time on it, however, and the day was more than half gone with much left to do. "Me hunt now," Tonto said.

Kemosabe sighed. "I wish I could help. I feel useless."

Tonto shook his head. "You rest, Kemosabe. Grow strong."

The ranger stroked the black mask absently. "Yes... I will do that, Tonto."

For the first time since he'd arrived, Tonto ventured farther than a few feet from the mouth of the cave. Scout whickered to him as he passed, and Tonto stopped to give him some attention for a little while. Soon, though, he headed out into the valley. He did not wish to be away from Kemosabe, but he preferred open spaces to walls and suddenly realized how confined he'd been starting to feel. The sun felt good on his skin and he broke into a light jog, and then a full out sprint, grinning with the sheer pleasure of running.

He returned a few hours later with a brace of rabbits, a bunch of fresh berries in a hastily woven basket made of dried grass, and several fat, starchy tubers still covered in dirt. Kemosabe had fallen asleep again, and the fire had died down to embers. The small cave had grown nearly stifling with the heat, so Tonto decided to bank the fire and cook with the coals. He found a large, flat rock, scrubbed it fairly clean, and laid it across the fire pit. He washed the tubers in the pool, then wrapped them in wet leaves and set them on the rock to bake. He did much the same for the rabbits, though he seasoned them with some of his herbs. He carried them mostly for medicinal reasons, but they were also very tasty. Tonto's spirits were high, and he hummed an old tune to himself as he worked.

It seemed as though Kemosabe grew stronger by the hour. He slept a lot, but it was by choice, as if he were deliberately conserving his strength and channeling his energy into healing. He woke only to eat, and he ate heartily. By the time the sun set in a spectacular display of color, Kemosabe was able to forgo the bowl and leave the cave on his own power. When he was gone a long time, however, Tonto grew concerned and left in search of him. He found him not far from the cave, standing beside the graves. He slipped back unnoticed into the cave and began preparing their evening meal.

Kemosabe was very somber when he returned, and Tonto respected his unvoiced desire for solitude. They ate dinner in silence, but it was not awkward or uncomfortable. They watched the fire for a while afterward, taking turns dipping into the flimsy, lopsided grass basket to munch on berries. Tonto wondered what Kemosabe was thinking, but he did not ask. When he settled into his bedroll, it was with a sense of anticipation.

Something about the resolve in Kemosabe's eyes, the way he moved, made Tonto feel that tomorrow would be a momentous day.