Author's Note to Jodm: The Lone Ranger only rides for as long as the stories continue to be told. It's a fun fandom to play in - feel free to join!
"That a man should make the most of what equipment he has."
Texas was the largest state in the union so far, larger than many entire countries across the ocean. It was home to a wide variety of terrain, most of it quite verdant. This stretch of land, however, was some of the flattest and most barren in all of Texas. Looking across the landscape, a man would see mostly rocks, cactus, and the occasional stand of trees that indicated water. Tonto knew of the valley they sought, but he was surprised Kemosabe did. No one would expect to find such a place here, and so far it was unknown and unmolested by the hunters of the west.
"Just look at it, Tonto," Kemosabe said with quiet awe.
It was as if a great hand had reached down from the heavens and scooped out a fistful of earth. It was a long, narrow ravine that dropped off suddenly from ground level and was not easily seen from afar. Whatever had happened here had cracked the very foundation of rock under the land, tapping the river than ran beneath it. Water burst from one end of the valley, flowed all the way through it, then disappeared underground again. They watched, standing at the top of the valley, as a small herd of wild horses grazed on the lush green grass below.
Mustangs.
Powerful, maneuverable, and hardy, these were the descendants of the Spanish horses brought to Mexico centuries ago. They were a mix of breeds, roaming free in a hard land, and nature had selected the fittest to survive. They were a range of colors; black, brown, tan. Some were a painted swirl like Tonto's Scout, and some were completely solid.
A large, equine head thrust between the two men's shoulders, wide nostrils flaring eagerly, and pushed them aside.
Tonto laughed, and patted the horse's neck as he pulled him back. "Scout smell valley!"
The ranger grinned, rubbing an affectionate hand over the animal's muzzle. "Yes, you've been very patient with us, Scout."
It was not far from where they had started, but it had taken them over two days to reach it on foot. The ranger had not been able to set as fast a pace as normal, but this did not seem to frustrate him. Tonto would have thought Kemosabe would be eager to go after Cavendish and his gang of outlaws, but his friend had spent most of the travel time deep in thought. In all of the two days, Kemosabe never removed the mask. Not even to sleep, not even to shave. Tonto did not question him.
"Come on, Tonto," the ranger said and led the way. "We can get down over there."
Tonto nodded and followed after him, laughing again as Scout tossed his head in annoyance at the plodding pace of his human companions. One end of the valley was deep and stopped abruptly at a rocky wall, but the other gradually sloped upward at an almost gentle gradient. They had nearly reached the bottom when the shrill scream of a horse reached them.
The ranger grabbed Tonto's arm and they stopped walking so abruptly that Scout nearly trod on their heels. Tonto looked at his friend, but Kemosabe was already running. Tonto hastily flung Scout's reins around a small tree to keep the horse from following them, then ran after him. The valley was oddly flat, with huge chunks of rock that looked out of place scattered randomly through it. As they rounded one of these boulders, they came upon a very large, very angry buffalo.
Surprised, they ducked down behind a rock – but the beast was not interested in them.
A fallen stallion lay on the ground, the crimson stain spreading from his side a stark contrast to the brilliant, solid white of his hide. His mane and tail were equally white, and blew in all directions as he struggled to rise. He gave a shriek of pain as more blood gushed from the wound, and fell back. The bison lowered its head, snorting its fury, and began a charge to deliver the final blow.
Tonto gave a startled jolt at the crack of a gun right beside him, echoing through the valley. The buffalo dropped in its tracks, falling over its own hooves to skid to a halt only a few feet from the horse.
Tonto looked at the ranger in surprise. "You hit him, Kemosabe."
"I hope it was soon enough, Tonto," the ranger said, holstering the weapon as he left the protection of the rock to approach the horse. The stallion was still fighting to rise, alarmed by this new, unknown threat.
Tonto split off from him, drawing his gun as he cautiously approached the buffalo. The animal was twitching feebly, but it had been shot directly in the eye. The skill displayed here was amazing – it was probably the only place that a handgun could fell such a large animal so quickly. Satisfied that it was no longer a threat, Tonto returned to the ranger's side.
He was stroking the horse's neck, and looked up as Tonto approached.
"Buffalo dying," Tonto said, and looked down at the horse. The animal's flanks were heaving, and the gash in his flank was still gushing blood. "Horse look bad," Tonto said, and made a small gesture with his weapon. It did not seem right to let the animal suffer. "Me shoot him?"
Kemosabe ran his hands through the horse's mane. "No, Tonto..." he said. "I'm going to try to pull him through." Tonto did not see how that would be possible, but he didn't argue. The horse suddenly lifted his head, trying again to get up, but collapsed. "Well, old fellow, you're in bad shape," Kemosabe said calmly, quietly. The horse's ears twitched in his direction as he lay panting. "Lot of bumps and bruises. Tonto," he continued, still keeping his voice low, "get some rags from the supplies and bring the canteen."
"Me do," Tonto replied, also speaking quietly. He moved carefully, making no sudden moves, as he slipped past the pair on the ground and headed back for Scout. Kemosabe had packed everything from the cave, including his bloodied clothing and the vests Tonto had taken from the fallen rangers. He'd helped Kemosabe wash them the next day when they set up camp near a stream, not really understanding why the ranger was keeping them. He'd thought it for sentiment, but the ranger had borrowed Tonto's knife and cut the garments into large, square sections. They would not make good bandages, but Tonto agreed they would be better than nothing.
Tonto led Scout back to what he was certain would be their campsite for a while, and handed over the cloth first and then both canteens. The water went quickly as Kemosabe washed out the wound. He handed the empty canteens back to Tonto, made a gesture toward the stream that ran down the center of the valley, and reached for a bandage. Tonto instantly obeyed, sprinting as fast as his feet would carry him, and was back within minutes. He made several trips back and forth, as neither the stream nor the horse could be moved, before Kemosabe had the wound cleaned out to his satisfaction. It did not look as bad once the blood was cleared away, but it was was a deep puncture wound.
Tonto fetched the mending kit when told to, and was instructed to make a fire to boil the thread and needle. As he worked, Tonto constantly looked over to where Kemosabe held the bandages pressed to the horse's side as if he was physically keeping the animal's spirit from leaving. Finally, everything was prepared and Tonto knelt beside the horse.
"All right, Tonto," the ranger said, "I need you to apply direct pressure right here." Tonto nodded as he placed his hands over top of Kemosabe's. The ranger slid his hands out, and Tonto pressed down. It was not directly on the wound, but slightly above it, slowing the flow of blood.
"Sorry, big fellow," Kemosabe said softly as he picked up the needle that Tonto had already threaded. "We don't have anything to make this easier for you."
Tonto had heard of the technique of sewing flesh, but he had never seen it done. He leaned forward, trying to watch. Kemosabe looked up, saw his interest, and shifted position so that Tonto could see better. The stallion twitched with the first stitch, but was too weak to protest more than that. The ranger explained what he was doing as he worked, speaking quietly and soothingly for the horse's benefit. By some miracle, the bison's horn had not struck any organs, nor broken any bone. The tools at hand were not suited to the task, but Kemosabe sewed each layer of torn muscle, one at a time, and used Tonto's knife to sever the thread before starting another layer. Last of all he stitched the skin together.
"Let up slowly," Kemosabe said.
Tonto did so, gradually lessening the pressure, but left the bandage in place.
"Well," the ranger said, and stroked the horse's nose. "That's the best we can do. It's up to you, now."
Tonto set up their campsite a short distance away, watching his friend all the while. Kemosabe kept talking, stroking the horse' neck, back, haunch. His voice was soft, and his hands very gentle. Tonto smiled quietly to himself as the horse relaxed and laid his head down. They let the horse rest for a couple hours, but that was as long as they dare let the heavy animal stay on his side. The stallion had regained some of his strength, and was more alert.
The ranger worked both hands under the horse's shoulder, and gave him a strong shove. The horse blinked, surprised, and lifted his head. "Easy," Kemosabe said when the horse let out a nervous, confused snort. "Easy, big fellow, on your feet," he coaxed. The stallion rolled, slowly gathering his legs under him. Tonto stood a little to the side, one hand kept loose and at the ready in case the horse should panic. A quick smack on the rump would distract him from attacking Kemosabe, if he got such a notion into his head. He watched as Kemosabe patted and stroked the injured horse's neck and throat and helped push as he finally managed to stand.
Tonto moved to stand beside the ranger, and the horse swayed unsteadily. They both hastily stepped back when the horse tossed his head, but the stallion looked from one to the other and began to back up slowly. Then he turned and walked away on wobbly legs. Now that the horse was standing, Tonto could see what Kemosabe had no doubt already recognized from the moment he'd laid eyes upon him.
The stallion was absolutely stunning.
He was fully grown but barely mature. He was tall and leggy, but also broad shouldered and powerfully muscled. The wind caught at the white mane and tail, blowing them to the side as he moved. Tonto could see now why Kemosabe wanted this horse.
Tonto's smile faded as the horse began to pick up speed. "Me get bridle and lariat," he said quickly, turning for their camp. "Him run away!"
"No..." the ranger said, stopping him with a hand on his chest without taking his eyes off the horse. "Wait, Tonto." Tonto looked back towards the horse, and they both watched as it circled back around to them. The stallion walked back and forth, tossing his head, as if torn with indecision.
The ranger's eyes glittered with admiration behind his mask. "I'd like that horse more than anything in the world... but if he wants to go, he should be free."
The stallion ran away a distance, then came back again.
"Him a beauty," Tonto said, watching him. The sun seemed to glow off his hide. "Like mountain with snow. Silver white."
"Silver..." the ranger said, testing the word on his tongue. He smiled slowly. "That would be a name for him. Here, Silver!" he called, raising his voice. The horse stopped his pacing, turning to look. "Come back, big fellow! C'mon, Silver – come back, big fellow."
The stallion ran off a bit, but then stopped and looked over his shoulder. He snorted when the ranger called to him again, and didn't return. But the peculiar predators were too fascinating to resist, and he did not run away.
"Me get bridle now," Tonto said, pleased. "Him come back."
But the ranger once again stopped him. "No, he wouldn't take a bit. I'll use a hackamore for the time being." He kept looking back to the motionless horse as he gathered up a coiled length of rope from their campsite, quickly fashioning it into a loose halter as he spoke. "It wont be as strange to his head as a bridle. There," he said, and looked towards the horse.
Tonto watched as Kemosabe slowly approached, never having seen anything quite like this before. The horse shifted his feet and tossed his head as Kemosabe got closer, but did not flee.
"Here, Silver," the ranger said quietly, his voice full of admiration, and held out the bridle for the animal to sniff. The rope smelled of Scout and men, and the horse took several whiffs of it before lifting his head to take a bit of it into his mouth. It was not food that the human was offering, however, and he spat it back out again.
"If you only knew how we need you," Kemosabe said very softly.
Tonto's chest tightened at the words and the tone. Both of the stallion's ears faced the ranger fully, listening intently, for the horse was not immune either. There was such purpose in that voice, a promise that transcended language, both human and animal. It was a call that could not be denied.
"Whoa big fellow, ready?" the ranger asked and smiled as the stallion allowed him to loop the course rope over the sensitive skin of his face. "We're going to do a lot of riding together," he continued soothingly, running his hands down the horse's muzzle and nose to distract him from the feel of the rope. "We're gonna be pals, aren't we, Silver?"
The white horse tossed his head, not really liking the bridle, but not refusing it. The ranger remained with Silver for a little while, offering the occasional pat while the horse got used to the halter. When he eventually walked away, Silver calmly began to graze on the nearby grass. With the acceptance of the man came the acceptance of the name Silver, and everything that would one day be associated with it.
"There's Arabian in him, Tonto," Kemosabe said, joining Tonto near the fire.
Tonto sat cross-legged on the ground, sharpening his knife on a small whetstone he carried in his saddlebag for the purpose. He gestured with the blade and smiled. "Indian pony, too."
"And Quarter horse," the ranger added, studying the lines of the animal as he moved. Silver looked up from grazing and regarded the two men. He swished his long white tail in a glowing streamer and curved his neck coyly at them. Kemosabe laughed. "Yes, Silver – we're admiring you!"
Tonto smiled again at the two of them, then drew the knife across the stone a final time. He tilted it to check the edge, and gave a little nod of satisfaction. Silver would not be strong enough to travel for some time, which meant they would be in this valley for a little while. They'd been living off the land since they'd left the cave but that was time consuming. When they did finally leave the valley of horses to go after Cavendish, it would be better if they could travel as swiftly as possible and Tonto considered the buffalo the perfect solution.
The ranger sighed. "It's a shame I had to shoot him. They're getting too rare from over hunting."
"Indian way better," Tonto observed as he got to his feet and headed over to the buffalo. "Take only what need." He paused, looking at his friend as he got up to follow. "Silver need."
Kemosabe tilted his head at him with a sad little smile. "If only everyone were as wise."
The ranger stood beside him and watched with respectful curiosity as Tonto waved a hand over the buffalo, offering his people's prayer of thanks for the animal's sacrifice that they might live. He didn't know why this buffalo had been traveling alone, away from any herd, and in this particular valley. He didn't know what had incited a battle between bison and horse just as two men came down the path. Tonto looked over at Silver, who had returned to grazing nearby. The horse looked up, sensing his eyes, and nickered. Silver's wounds had been severe enough for the horse to fear death, but just barely within Kemosabe's skill and means to heal. Tonto did not think the stallion would have accepted them nearly as swiftly without the buffalo.
"What are you thinking, Tonto?"
Tonto looked at him, startled out of his thoughts. "Me think, Kemosabe..." he said slowly, uncertainly. "... you have much act of providence."
The ranger's eyebrows drew together, and he glanced up at the sky before looking toward Silver. "It does seem an unlikely chain of events..."
Tonto looked upwards as well, and then his eyes widened. The day was nearly done, with only a few hours of light left to work with. If he did not hurry, much of the buffalo would go to waste. As it was, it had already been too long to get the best quality from the hide and meat. He adjusted the sturdy knife in his hand as he knelt, but looked over when Kemosabe crouched beside him as if he meant to help.
"Me do, Kemosabe," Tonto said. When his friend frowned, opening his mouth to object, Tonto smiled. "Your turn make dinner. Maybe move camp away, close to water." It would have been much more practical to set up the fire where the bison had fallen, but it was not a very good campsite otherwise.
"All right..." the ranger said, still looking as though he did not think it was a fair deal.
He was right, of course. Tending to the carcass was hard, messy work. But it was better, in Tonto's opinion, for Kemosabe to rest after their journey to this valley. The ranger hid it well, but no man could fully recover from such injuries in only a few days even with the powerful combination of white man's medicine and Potawatomi herbs. Tonto was convinced that it was Kemosabe's strength of spirit that was speeding his healing the most. In any case, there was only the one knife between the two of them.
Tonto began work on the buffalo while the ranger put out the fire and broke up the camp. He loaded everything once again upon Scout, then led the horse deeper into the more fertile stretch of land at the heart of the valley. Scout went willingly, having grown to trust the ranger over the past couple days, and also being very eager for the water and sweet grass. Tonto looked over to Silver when Kemosabe called. The stallion lifted his head, seemed to think about it, and then ambled after him.
He cut away as much of the bison as he thought they could eat or preserve and made a point to salvage the hide, horns, and tendons. The sun was nearly setting by the time Tonto was done. He fashioned a crude travois from two long branches and several smaller, leafy ones, and piled the fruits of his labor onto it before heading down into the valley to get Scout and some rope.
Kemosabe had been busy. He'd chosen a spot on the shore of the stream where a small tree had fallen. This served well as a bench, which the ranger was sitting on as he unbraided a short length of rope. There were many tall tripod shaped drying racks, made of small branches and sticks tied with the thinner, separated strands of rope. Beneath each one was a bundle of kindling, waiting to be lit. The campfire was a proper cooking setup, fit for a long stay, with Tonto's little pot already hanging from the makeshift wooden spit. A stack of firewood was piled nearby, with their small axe leaning against it.
Tonto smiled and inhaled deeply; he'd grown quite fond of coffee. He and Scout went back to the bison, using what remained of the rope to tie the travois to Scout's saddle, and there was a steaming cup waiting for him by the time they dragged it into the camp. Tonto freed the horse, giving him a friendly pat of thanks, before sending him off to join Silver.
He returned his saddle to its place at the head of his bedroll, and Kemosabe handed him the cup as Tonto sat down heavily on the log beside him. "It's going to be a long night," the ranger remarked when Tonto checked the sky. The sun was slipping past the rocky lip of the canyon, already casting half the valley in shadow. "Finish that and go wash up," he added. "I'll get started. Where's your knife?"
Tonto nodded with a low hum and pointed at the travois. He took another sip as he watched Kemosabe look over the pile of meat and hide until he found the bloody knife.
"You plan to keep the hide?" the ranger asked as he took the knife to the water and crouched to rinse it off.
Tonto nodded. "Buffalo hide and horns good for trade."
Kemosabe shook his head as he returned to the travois. "Money won't be a problem."
Tonto was not a greedy man, and rarely had any real use for money. Despite this, however, he'd found it nearly impossible to live in the white man's world without it. He wondered what Kemosabe meant by the remark, thought about asking, but decided against it.
Kemosabe found the meat that had been set aside from the rest and brought it to the fireside. Tonto had chosen mostly lean cuts from the bison, because they would dry better, but not all of it. They would eat well tonight and tomorrow. Tonto's stomach let out a sudden, loud growl, unhappy with just the coffee, and he looked down at it in annoyance.
Kemosabe smiled and sat down on the log. "Oh, I found some of those potato-ish things you like," he said, and pointed at a handful of them baking on the rocks that circled the campfire. They were small, lumpy things, about fist-sized. "They grow all around, probably the entire valley."
Tonto's stomach gave another embarrassing rumble, and he set the half-full cup of coffee on one of the rocks that circled the fire. "Me wash now."
"All right, Tonto," the ranger replied, still smiling as Tonto went over to his saddle.
They had already fallen into a few routines in the travel from the cave to this valley. The first night, Kemosabe had pitched camp while Tonto foraged for their dinner. The ranger had set out their bedrolls side by side, continuing the practice Tonto had started in the cave, and somewhere along the way it had become an unspoken habit. Tonto sighed wearily, knowing that there would be no sleep tonight, as he rummaged through his saddlebag for his extra clothing.
Kemosabe was a very clean person, nearly obsessively so by Tonto's standards. He washed every evening when they camped, and shaved every morning. Tonto had never thought of himself as being particularly dirty, but he was starting to feel downright grubby in comparison. He glanced upwards again, and judged by the streaking colors of the fading sunset that he had perhaps fifteen minutes before nightfall. The stream was swift flowing and looked to be deep enough, so Tonto decided to make a full job of washing and fetched Kemosabe's bar of soap as well.
He kicked off his moccasins before stripping out of his sweat soaked, blood splattered buckskins and left them in a pile on the pebbled shore. He would clean them tomorrow, when the sun was up. He pulled the headband off, undid the bindings holding his hair in place, and rubbed his hands through the thick, glossy black mass until it fell freely to his shoulders. The water was bitingly cold around his ankles as he stepped into the stream, and he resolved to be as quick as possible.
He looked over his shoulder when Kemosabe called his name. The ranger was holding his knife up to catch the last rays of light, tilting the blade to examine it, before turning to look at him. "Where did—?" he broke off abruptly, his eyes going wide, before jerking his head to the side. "Sorry."
Tonto made a confused noise, until he remembered that Kemosabe's people considered it, for the most part, indecent to expose much skin. Maybe that was why they were so pale. He didn't know how they could stand being so smothered, but he'd accepted a long time ago that it was just something they did. He'd taken to the custom himself, to a much lesser degree, in recent years. He shrugged, and waded into the stream. He scrubbed down completely, including his hair, in a minimal of time and was back out within minutes.
He wrung the worst of the water out of his hair then snatched up his bedroll and used it to dry off. His teeth were chattering, and his fingers felt numb as he quickly dressed. Ordinarily, Tonto would remove his gun belt and moccasins to sleep. But Kemosabe did not. With the exception of his hat, which he kept on the ground at his side, the man slept fully clothed, armed, and masked, as if he expected trouble at any second.
The caution was enough to make Tonto feel a little paranoid, but he chose to do the same. Twice now, on their way to this valley, he'd been woken at night by the ranger muttering in his sleep. It was not unusual, all things considered, for bad dreams to plague Kemosabe after what had happened. He would snap out of it, suddenly awake, and Tonto would close his eyes without mentioning it.
If it made Kemosabe feel better to sleep fully prepared, Tonto could hardly hold it against him. He buckled the belt about his waist and collected his moccasins from the water's edge.
Kemosabe had returned to the log and looked up from his task of cutting a large chunk of bison flesh into thin strips as Tonto returned. The ranger must have dipped into Tonto's dwindling supply of herbs, because already the camp smelled of spiced roasted meat and tubers. Tonto's belly gave another rumble as he folded his legs and sat on the ground as close to the welcome heat of the fire as he safely could.
"Water very cold," he warned his friend unhappily, picking up the cup of coffee he had left by the fireside. He pushed his hair out of his face to take a hearty swallow; it had cooled, but was still warm enough to be felt as it made its way down.
The ranger added the strip of meat to a small pile on a plate at his side, then looked over at the stream. "It's an underground spring," he said. "Doesn't come up long enough to warm before going back underground over there."
Tonto gave a little grunt of acknowledgement but was too tired, cold, and hungry at the moment to really care. The ranger continued to slice the meat, readying it for drying, while Tonto sipped from his cup and waited for the shivering to subside. The coffee had taken away the immediate edge, but the sun had fully set by the time his muscles started to relax from the flames against his back. He combed out his hair, but left it loose to dry, and pulled on a pair of soft woolen socks.
"I don't think I've ever seen an Indian wear socks with moccasins," the ranger commented, dropping another strip of meat onto the plate.
Tonto wiggled his toes, then slid them into his shoes. "White man have many bad idea about clothes," he said, and grinned. "This not one."
Kemosabe chuckled, more a snort than a laugh, and passed the plate to him. "Here."
Tonto began hanging the strips over the drying racks and lit the small, smoky fires while the ranger drafted their second dinner plate and continued to cut the meat. The sun would do most of the work over the next couple days, but for this first night they had to keep the fires constantly tended so that the smoke would ward off insects. The jerky would have been better if they'd been able to cure it first, or at least season it, but it would serve them well.
They fell into a rhythm and worked in companionable silence for some time, taking a break only to eat dinner. This Tonto relished, for he possessed a very hearty appetite and the past several days had been mostly preserved foods or small game. When the meat was all cut and hung to dry, Tonto set about rendering the fat he'd gathered while Kemosabe kept the fires fed. It was a slow process, as the travel pot was not suited to the task and could only do small quantities at a time, but it would be worth the effort.
Dawn was still a few hours away when Tonto's energy began to flag in spite of the coffee. He leaned against the log, close enough to the main camp fire to stir the pot occasionally, and yawned. It was easier to keep awake when his hands were busy, but there wasn't much left to do now but wait.
Despite Tonto's best intentions, the soft crackling of the fires and the babble of the stream lulled him to sleep.