Tonto had been waiting for a long time in a small woodland camp. His tall, masked friend, the Lone Ranger, had been expected for over an hour. It was with a feeling of relief that Tonto recognized the familiar hoof beats of the great horse Silver. The usual greeting froze on the Indian's lips, when he saw the grim lines about the masked man's mouth, and the dirt and brambles that clung to his clothing and the coat of Silver. He had come back through underbrush and brambles, due to a big manhunt in the territory.