The Indian was a striking-looking man. His face showed interest in the girl; 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 for the first time noticed that the trail had widened to a clearing fully thirty yards across. The open space was bordered by huge trees, and just beyond one of the largest of these she saw a paint horse. "My horse there," the red man said. "This horse not mine. This horse name 'Silver.'" "Silver," repeated the girl. "It certainly suits him." She thought her uncle 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 head slowly. There was a somewhat awkward period of silence. The Indian stood as if waiting for Penny to make the next move. She had a fleeting thought that she should have been afraid. She knew that she was far from anyone who might help her. Yet she felt quite at ease. The Indian had been friendly so far, respectful too, and there was something magnetic about his personality. "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 of pine. Inside there was considerable duffle, packed for quick loading on a horse. "Do you mind," said Penny with an impulsiveness that later surprised her when she thought of it, "if I sit in your lean-to and get out of the rain for a few minutes?" Tonto looked a bit surprised, then glad that he was so trusted by the girl. He seemed to be bending every effort to put her at ease. When she stepped on the soft boughs of evergreen that carpeted the lean-to, the Indian removed his belt and the heavy revolvers and tossed them on the floor close to her. "Me not need guns now," he muttered. Penny understood, and appreciated the red man's gesture. He was putting his only weapons where she could reach them if she cared to. He remained just outside the roof of the small shelter, ignoring the drizzle as he sat on the trunk of a fallen tree. "I'm from the Basin," the girl explained. "I used to come up this trail a lot, but it was always pretty hard riding. It's been cleared since the last 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 men from the Basin ride this way?" asked Penny after a pause. Tonto didn't reply. "Who owns the white horse?"