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Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 16, 1927, withfirst part of "The War Chief

Chapter I. Go-Yat-Thlay
Chapter II. Shoz-Dijiji
Chapter III. Yah-Ik-Tee
Chapter IV. The New War Chief
Chapter V. On the War Trail
Chapter VI. The Oath of Geronimo
Chapter VII. Raided
Chapter VIII. Vaqueros and Warriors
Chapter IX. Love
Chapter X. Wichita Billings
Chapter XI. War Chief of theBe-Don-Ko-He
Chapter XII. The Scalp Dance
Chapter XIII. "Shoz-Dijiji Is Dead!"
Chapter XIV. "Fifty Apaches"
Chapter XV. Hunted
Chapter XVI. To Spirit Land
Chapter XVII. The Trail and Its End
Chapter XVIII. The War Dance
Chapter XIX. White and Red
Chapter XX. Come Back!

NAKED but for a G-string, rough sandals, a bit ofhide and a buffalo headdress, a savage warrior leaped and danced tothe beating of drums. Encircling fires, woman-tended, sent upcurling tongues of flame, lighting, fitfully, sweat-glisteningshoulders, naked arms and legs.

Distorted shadows, grotesque, mimicking, danced with the savageand his fellows. Above them, dark and mysterious and weirdlyexaggerated by the night, loomed the Grampian Hills.

Rude bows and arrows, stone-shod spears, gaudy feathers, thewaving tails of animals accentuated the barbaric atmosphere thatwas as yet uncontaminated by the fetid breath ofcivilization—pardon me!—that was as yet ignorant of therefining influences of imperial conquest, trained mercenaries andabhorrent disease.

Here was freedom. Agricola was as yet unborn, the Wall ofAntoninus unbuilt, Albion not even a name; but Agricola was tocome, Antoninus was to build his wall; and they were to go theirways, taking with them the name of Albion, taking with themfreedom; leaving England, civilization, inhibitions.

But ever in the seed of the savage is the germ of savagery thatno veneer of civilization, no stultifying inhibitions seem ableever entirely to eradicate. Appearing sporadically in individualsit comes down the ages—the germ of savagery, the seed offreedom.

As the Caledonian savages danced through that long-gone night, athousand years, perhaps, before the prototypes of Joseph Smith,John Alexander Dowie and Aimee Semple McPherson envisaged the Starof Bethlehem, a new sun looked down upon the distant land of theAthapascans and another scene—American Indian savages.

Naked but for a G-string, rough sandals, a bit of hide and abuffalo headdress, a savage warrior moved silently among the bolesof great trees. At his heels, in single file, came others, andbehind these squaws with papooses on their backs and youngerchildren tagging at their heels.

They had no pack animals, other than the squaws, but they hadlittle to pack. It was, perhaps, the genesis of that great trektoward the south. How many centuries it required no-one knows, forthere were no chroniclers to record or explain that long march ofthe Apaches from northwest Canada to Arizona and New Mexico, asthere have been to trace the seed of the Caledonian savage from theGrampian Hills to the New World.

The ancestors of Jerry MacDuff had brought the savage germ withthem to Georgia from Scotland in early colonial days, and it hadmanifested itself in Jerry in two ways—filled him with adistaste for civilization that urged him ever frontierward andmated him with the granddaughter of a Cherokee Indian, in whoseveins pulsed analogous desires.

Jerry MacDuff and Annie Foley were, like nearly all otherpioneers, ignorant, illiterate, unwashed. They had nothing of themajesty and grandeur and poise of their savage forebears; therepressive force of civilization had stifled everything but thebare, unlovely germ of savagery. They have little to do with thischronicle, other than to bring Andy MacDuff into the world in adilapidated wagon somewhere in Missouri in the spring of 1863, andcarry him a few months and a few hundred miles upon the sea oflife.

Why Jerry MacDuff was not in one army or another, or in jail, in1863, I do not know, for he was an able-bodied man of thirty and nocoward; but the bare fact is that he was headed for Californiaalong the old Santa Fe trail. His pace was slow, since direpoverty, which had always been his lot, necessitated considerablestops at the infrequent settlements where he might earn thewherewith to continue his oft-interrupted journey.

Out of Santa Fe, New Mexico, the MacDuffs turned south along theRio Grande toward the spot where the seeds of the ancientCaledonian and Athapascan warriors were destined to meet again forthe first time, perhaps, since they had set out upon oppositetrails from the birthplace of humanity in the days when ferns weretrees, and unsailed seas lashed the shores of continents that areno more.

Changed are the seas, changed are the continents, changed themortal envelope that houses the germ of humanity that alone remainsunchanged and unchangeable. It abode in the breast of Go-yat-thlay,the Apache and, identical, in the breast of Andy MacDuff, theinfant white.

Had Andy's forebears remained in Scotland Andy would doubtlesshave developed into a perfectly respectable caddie before he becamea God-fearing, law-abiding farmer. Back of him were all thegenerations of civilization that are supposed to have exerted arefining influence upon humanity to the end that we are nowinherently more godlike than our savage ancestors, or theless-favored peoples who have yet to emerge from savagery.

Back of Go-yat-thlay there was no civilization. Down through allthe unthinkable ages from the beginning the savage germ thatanimated him had come untouched by any suggestion ofrefinement—Go-yat-thlay, born a Ned-ni Apache in No-doyohnCanyon, Arizona, in 1829, was a stark savage. Already, atthirty-four, he was war chief of the Be-don-ko-he, the tribe of hisfirst wife, Alope, which he had joined after his marriage to her.The great Mangas Colorado, hereditary chief of the Be-don-ko-he,thought well of him, consulted him, deferred to him upon occasion;often sent him out upon the war trail in command of parties ofraiders.

Today Go-yat-thlay was thus engaged. With four warriors he rodedown the slopes of Stein's Peak range, dropped into a hollow andclambered again almost to the top of an eminence beyond. Here theyhalted and Go-yat-thlay, dismounting, handed his reins to one ofhis fellows. Alone he clambered noiselessly to the summit,disturbing no smallest pebble, and lying there upon his bellylooked down upon a winding, dusty road below. No emotion that hemay have felt was reflected in those cruel, granitic features.

For an hour he had been moving directly toward this pointexpecting that when he arrived he would find about what he waslooking down upon now—a single wagon drawn by two mules, adilapidated wagon, with a soiled and much-patched cover.

Go-yat-thlay had never before seen this wagon, but he had seenits dust from a great distance; he noted its volume and its rate ofprogress, and he had known that it was a wagon drawn by two mules,for there was less dust than an ox-drawn vehicle would have raised,since oxen do not lift their feet as high as horses or mules, and,too, its rate of progress eliminated oxen as a possible means oflocomotion. That the wagon was drawn by mules rather than horseswas but a shrewd guess based upon observation. The Apache knew thatfew horses survived thus far the long trek from the white man'scountry.

In the mind of Go-yat-thlay burned a recollection of the wrongsthat had been heaped upon his people by the white man. In thelegends of his fathers had come down the story of the conquests ofthe Spaniards, through Coronado and the priests, three-hundredyears before. In those days the Apache had fought only to preservethe integrity of his domain from the domination of an alien race.In his heart there was not the bitter hatred that the cruelty andinjustice and treachery of the more recent American invadersengendered.

These things passed through the mind of the Apache as he lookeddown upon the scene below; and too, there was the lure of loot.Mules have value as food, and among the meager personal belongingsof the white emigrants there was always ammunition and oftentrinkets dear to the heart of the savage.

And so there were greed and vengeance in the heart ofGo-yat-thlay as he watched the wagon and Jerry MacDuff and Annie,but there was no change in the expression upon the cruel andinscrutable face.

The Indian drew himself down below the crest of the sun-scorchedhill, out of sight of the unsuspecting whites, and signaled to hiscompanions. Three of them crept upward toward him; the fourth,remaining, held the ponies of the others. He was a youth undergoingpreparation for admission to the warrior class.

Go-yat-thlay spoke to the three. Separating, the four buckscrept to the hilltop. The mules plodded through the dust; theirbrown hides were streaked with it and by little rivulets ofsweat.

Jerry MacDuff stuffed a large portion of fine cut inside his cheekand spat copiously at nothing in particular. Annie Foley re-lit herpipe. They seldom spoke. They had not spoken for many hours; theywere never to speak again.

Almost before the report of the first shot reached his earsJerry MacDuff heard a soft plop and saw Annie crumple and lurchforward. As he reached out to catch her a slug struck him in theleft shoulder and he lurched to the ground on the right side of thewagon as Annie, dead now, slipped softly and silently beneath theleft front wheel. The mules brought up suddenly by this unexpectedobstacle, and being unurged, stopped.

When the warriors reached the scene, Jerry was trying to draghimself upward to the wagon box from whence he could reach hisrifle. Go-yat-thlay struck him over the head with the butt of aYauger and Jerry sank back into the soft dust of the road.

The sun shone down out of a blue sky; a Sabbath peace lay uponthe scene; a great, white lily bloomed beside the road, muteevidence of the omnipotence of the Creator.

Jerry lay upon his back close beside the wagon. Go-yat-thlaydetached a broken stake from the wagon and, with a shovel that wasstrapped to the side, drove it through Jerry and into the ground.Jerry groaned, but did not regain consciousness—then. For thefirst time the expression upon the face of the Be-don-ko-heunderwent a change—he smiled.

One of his fellows called him to the opposite side of the wagon,where Annie lay, and pointed to the dead woman's sun-tanned faceand straight, black hair, and the high cheek bones that herCherokee grandsire had bequeathed her.

A second Indian emerged from the wagon, where he had beenrummaging. He was grinning broadly. By one foot he held up fortheir inspection wee Andy MacDuff, whom he was about to swingheavily against the nearest iron tire when Go-yat-thlay stopped himwith a gesture and holding out his hand received the descendant ofone, long dead, who had been equally as savage as he. Fromnorthwestern Canada and from the Grampian Hills the seeds had metat last.

Wee Andy had seemingly inherited, through his mother, moreIndian blood than flowed in her veins; at least he looked more anIndian than she, with his round face, his big, dark eyes, hisstraight, black hair.

Go-yat-thlay thought him an Indian; upon no other hypothesis canbe explained the fact that instead of destroying him the savagechief carried him back to the hogans of his own people,notwithstanding the grumblings of Juh, who had wished to brain thespawn of the pindah lickoyee.

Thus, in the dome-shaped, thatched brush hut of Go-yat-thlay, inthe arms of Sons-ee-ah-ray, his youngest squaw, ended the lifehistory of Andy MacDuff and began that of a nameless, little Indianbaby.

That night to the camp of the Be-don-ko-he and the Ned-ni came arunner from the headquarters of the Rio Mimbres. For over a hundredmiles he had come on foot, across parched desert burning beneaththe fiery rays of Chigo-na-ay, and over rugged mountains that nohorse could travel, in sixteen hours.

Moccasins, of heavy buckskin with the toes turned up at rightangles and terminating in a disc an inch and a quarter in diameterthat formed a part of the rawhide sole, protected his feet and legsfrom the sharp stones and the cactus; a narrow head band ofApache-tanned doeskin kept his long, black hair from falling acrosshis eyes; these and a G-string were his apparel. Some parched cornand dried meat that he had carried he had eaten on the way and hehad drunk a little water from a bottle improvised from a piece ofthe large intestine of a horse. The only weapon that he carried wasa knife.

His body glistening in the firelight, he stood before thewarriors who had quickly gathered at his coming. He glanced aboutthe circle of grim faces surrounding him. His eyes, passing overthe features of Juh, Chief of the Ned-ni, and Mangas, theeighteen-year-old son of the chief of the Be-don-ko-he, stopped atlast upon those of Go-yat-thlay, the Yawner.

"Bi-er-le the Cho-kon-en bring bad news to the Be-don-ko-he," heannounced; "from Fort McLane he brings word that Mangas Colorado,Chief of the Be-don-ko-he, is dead."

From among the squaws and children gathered behind the warriorsarose anguished wails—the wives and children of MangasColorado had heard.

"The hearts of the white-eyes are bad," continued Bi-er-le."With smiles upon their lips the soldiers of the great White Fathercame to your camp, as you know, and invited your chief to acouncil.

"With four warriors he went, trusting to the honor of the pindahlickoyee, who are without honor; and when they had come to thefort, where there are many soldiers, the five were seized andthrust into a hogan with strong doors and iron bars at the windows,and at night soldiers came and killed Mangas Colorado.

"Cochise, Chief of the Cho-kon-en, heard of this and sentBi-er-le to his friends the Be-don-ko-he, for his heart grieveswith the hearts of his friends. Great was the love of Cochise forMangas Colorado. This word, too, he sends to the Be-don-ko-he: wideis the war trail; many are the warriors of the Cho-kon-en; filledare their hearts with rage against the pindah lickoyee; if theBe-don-ko-he take the war trail for revenge the warriors of Cochisewill come and help them."

"Cochise takes the words of Juh from his mouth." Thus spoke theChief of the Ned-ni. "Juh, with his warriors, will take the wartrail with the Be-don-ko-he against the white-eyes."

That night the warriors of the Be-don-ko-he sat in council, andthough Mangas, son of Mangas Colorado, the dead chief, was present,Go-yat-thlay was elected chief, and the next morning smoke signalsrose from mountain peaks a hundred miles apart. Go-yat-thlay wascalling his allies to him and Cochise, the great chief of theChihuicahui Apaches, was answering the call; and bloody were thefights that followed as the relentless avengers, following theexample of the foe, took toll of innocent and guilty alike.

But of all this wee Andy MacDuff recked naught. His big, browneyes surveyed the world from the opening in his tsoch, in which herode fastened securely to the back of Sons-ee-ah-ray. He gurgledand smiled and never cried, so that Morning Star and Go-yat-thlaywere very proud of him and he was made much of as are all Apachebabies.

Back and fourth across New Mexico and Arizona, beneathblistering sun, enduring biting cold, drenched by torrential rains,Andy jounced about upon the back of Morning Star and laughed orcrowed or slept as the spirit moved him, or in camp, his tsochsuspended from the bough of a tree swayed gently with the softevening winds.

During that year his little ears became accustomed to the cry ofthe coyote at night, the sudden ping of the white man's bullets,the wild war whoops of his people, the death shrieks of men, and ofwomen, and of children; and the next year he made his first descentupon Old Mexico.

Upon that raid, in 1864, the Be-don-ko-he brought back livecattle for the first time; but it was gruelling work, caring forthe wounded and keeping the cattle from straying, for the Apacheswere on foot; so the following year Go-yat-thlay organized amounted raid into Sonora; but this time the women and children wereleft at home. However, Wee Andy was busy learning to walk, so hedid not care.

II. — SHOZ-DIJIJI

THE years rolled by—happy, exciting yearsfor the little boy, whether sitting at the feet of Morning Starlistening to the legends of their people, or learning of the waysof the sun and the moon and the stars and the storms, or praying toUsen for health, for strength, for wisdom, or for protection, orbeing hurried to safety when enemies attacked. The chase, thebattle, the wild dances, fierce oaths, loving care, savagecruelties, deep friendships, hatred, vengeance, the lust for loot,hardship—bitter, bitter hardship—a little ease; werethe influences that shaped the character of the growing boy.

Go-yat-thlay told him of the deeds of his forefathers—ofMaco, the grandfather of Go-yat-thlay, who had been a great warriorand hereditary chief of the Ned-ni; of Delgadito and of MangasColorado. He taught him how make and use the bow and the arrow andthe lance, and from fierce and terrible Go-yat-thlay, who was neverfierce or terrible to him, he learned that it was his duty to killthe enemies of his people—to hate them, to torture them, tokill them—and that of all the enemies of the Shis-Inday theMexicans were the most to be hated, and next to the Mexicans, theAmericans.

At eight the boy was more proficient at trailing and huntingthan a white man ever becomes, nor was he any mean marksman withhis primitive weapons. Already he was longing to become a warrior.Often, while Go-yat-thlay talked to him, he sat and fondled theSpencer rifle that the chief had taken from a dead soldier, hisfingers itching to press the trigger as he dropped the sights upona soldier of the white-eyes.

It was in the spring of 1873 that a boy of ten, armed with bowand arrows, moved silently up a timbered canyon along theheadwaters of the Gila. He was almost naked, but for loincloth andmoccasins. A strip of soft buckskin, which the loving hands ofSons-ee-ah-ray had made beautiful with colored beads, bound hisbrow and his straight, black hair. In a quiver of mountain lionskin he carried his arrows behind his left shoulder. He was tallfor his age very straight, his skin was reddish-brown of thatwondrous texture that belongs to the skin of healthy childhood; hismovements were all grace, like those of a panther.

A mile below him, upon the rocky spur of the mountains, lay thecamp of his people, the Be-don-ko-he Apaches, and with them werethe Cho-kon-en and the Ned-ni. The boy played that he was a scout,sent out by the great Cochise, to spy upon the enemy. Thus always,surrounded by a world of stern realities, he in a world ofmake-believe that was even sterner—so is it withchildren.

The boy was alone in mountains filled with dangerousbeasts—panthers, lions, bears; and a country filled withdangerous enemies—white men; but he was not afraid. Fear wasnot one of the things that he had not been taught by Morning Staror Go-yat-thlay.

The fragrance of the cedar was in his nostrils, the thin, puremountain air filled his growing lungs and imparted to his wholebeing an exhilaration that was almost intoxication. If ever therewas joy in life it belonged to this chief's son.

He turned a rocky shoulder that jutted across the narrow trail,and came face to face with shoz-dijiji, the black bear. Fear he hadnot been taught, but caution he had. He had learned that only afool risks his life where there is nothing to be gained by thehazard. Perhaps the ancient Caledonian warriors from whose loinshis seed had sprung had not learned this— who knows? At anyrate the boy did not seek safety in retreat. He stopped and fittedan arrow to his bow, at the same time placing two more arrowsbetween the second and third and third and fourth fingers of hisright hand, ready for instant use. The bear had stopped in histracks and stood eyeing the boy. He was of a mind to run away, butwhen the bow twanged and a piece of sharpened quartz tore into hisneck where it joined his left shoulder he became suddenly aterrible engine of revengeful destruction, and voicing thunderouslygrowl after growl, he rushed upon the boy with open jaws andsnarling face. The lad knew that now it was too late to retreat andhis second arrow, following close upon the first, sank even deeperinto the bear's neck, and the third, just as Shoz-dijiji rearedupon his hind legs to seize him, entered between the ribs under theforeleg. Then the black bear was upon him and together the twotoppled from the narrow trail and rolled down among the cedarsgrowing below. They did not roll far—fifteen feet,perhaps—when they were brought up by the bole of a tree. Theboy hit with his head and lost consciousness. It was severalminutes before the lad opened his eyes. Beside him lay the deadbody of shoz-dijiji; the last arrow had penetrated his savageheart. The son of Go-yat-thlay sat up and a broad smile illuminedhis face. He rose to his feet and executed a war dance around thebody of his vanquished foe, bending to the right and left, backwardand forward until his body was parallel with the ground; nowleaping high in air, now stepping with measured tread, he circledthe dead bear time and time again. Fierce shouts rose to his lips,but he held them in check for he knew that the white soldiers weresearching for his people.

Suddenly he stopped dancing and looked down at shoz-dijiji, andthen glanced back along the trail toward the camp that was out ofsight beyond the many turns of the winding canyon. Then he stoopedand tried to lift the bear; but his young muscles were not equal tothe effort. Withdrawing his arrows from the bear's body andrecovering his bow he clambered to the trail and set off at a brisktrot toward camp. He was sore and lame and his head ached, but whatmatter? Never had he been more happy.

As he entered the camp he was discovered by some playingchildren. "Come, son of Go-yat-thlay!" they cried. "Come and playwith us!" But the son of Go-yat-thlay passed them haughtily. Hewent directly to where several warriors were squatting, smoking,and waited until they noticed him.

One of the warriors jerked a thumb down the canyon."Go-yat-thlay hunts antelope in the valley," he said.

"I, the son of Go-yat-thlay," said the boy, "have killedshoz-dijiji. I, alone, shee-dah, have done this thing; but alone Icannot bring in my kill. Therefore will you, Natch-in-ilk-kisn,come and help bring in the body of shoz-dijiji, yah-tats-an?"

"You no kill shoz-dijiji, you lie," said Natch-in-ilk-kisn. "Youonly little ish-kay-nay."

The lad drew himself up to his full height. "The son ofGo-yat-thlay, the chief, does not lie—to his friends," headded. Then he pointed to the scratches and the blood upon him."Think you I got these playing tag with the other children?" heasked." The meat of shoz-dijiji is good. Would Natch-in-ilk-kisnrather have the wolf, the coyote and the vulture eat it than to eatit himself?"

The warrior rose. "Come, little ish-kay-nay," he said, laughing."Natch-in-ilk-kisn joked. He will go with you."

That night was a proud night for the son of Go-yat-thlay; for atthe age of ten he had killed big game and won a name for himself.Henceforth he was to be known to man as Shoz-Dijiji, and not justas ish-kay-nay—boy. He had had a name for a long time ofcourse, but, also of course, no one ever mentioned it in hispresence, since if the bad spirits ever learned his name theycould, and undoubtedly would, cause him a great deal of trouble,even to sickness and death.

Go-yat-thlay was not Go-yat-thlay's name either, for he too, asall other Apaches, had a secret name that was really his though noone ever used it; and though he lived to be eighty years old andwas better known all over the world than any Indian who ever lived,with the possible exception of the Sioux medicine man, SittingBull, yet to this day no white man knows what his name was, and fewindeed were those who knew him even as Go-yat-thlay. By anothername was he known, a name that the Mexicans gave him, a name thatheld in fear and terror a territory into which could have beendumped the former German Empire and all of Greece, and still hadplenty of room to tuck away Rhode Island—Geronimo.

That night Go-yat-thlay was proud, too, for Shoz-Dijiji was allthat the proudest Apache father could expect of any son; andaccording to the custom of the Apaches the boy was as much the sonof Go-yat-thlay as though he had been the blood of his ownblood.

Before the lad was sent to bed he sat at the knee of the grimchieftain and the man stroked the boy's head. "You will be a bravein no time, Shoz-Dijiji," he said. "You will be a warrior and agreat one. Then you can go forth and spread terror among the pindahlickoyee, slaying them where you find them."

"You hate the white-eyes," said Shoz-Dijiji. "They are men likewe; they have arms and legs, as do we, and they walk and talk. Whydo they fight us? Why do we hate them?"

"Many years ago they came into our country and we treated themwell," replied Go-yat-thlay. "There were bad men among them, butalso there are bad men among the Apaches. Not all men are good. Ifwe killed their bad men then they killed us. If some of our bad menkilled some of them they tried to punish all of us, not seeking outjust the bad men among us who had made the trouble; they killed usall, men, women and children, where they found us. They hunted usas they would wild beasts.

"They took away our lands that Usen gave us. We were told thatwe could not hunt where our fathers had hunted since the beginningof the world; where we had always hunted. But they hunted there,where they would. They made treaties with us and broke them. Thewhite-eyed men do not keep their promises and they are verytreacherous. I will tell you now of just a single instance that youmay not forget the perfidy of the white man and that you may hatehim the more. This happened many years ago, while Mangas Coloradowas still living.

"Some of the chiefs of the white soldiers invited us to acouncil at Apache Pass. Mangas Colorado, with many others, went,believing in the good intentions of the white chiefs. Just beforenoon they were all invited into a tent where they were told thatthey would be given food, but instead they were set upon by thewhite soldiers. Mangas Colorado drew his knife and cut his waythrough the side of the tent, as did several other warriors, butmany were killed and captured.

"Among the Be-don-ko-hes killed then were San-za, Kia-de-ta-he,Ni-yo-ka-he and Go-pi. Remember these names and when you see awhite man think of them and revenge them."

It was another day. The squaws brewed tizwin. In a group sat thewarriors and the chiefs. Go-yat-thlay was still boasting about theexploit of his little Shoz-Dijiji.

"He will make a great warrior," said he to Cochise, hereditarychief of the Cho-kon-en and war chief of all the Apaches. "I knewit from the first, for when he was taken from the wagon of hispeople he did not cry, although Juh dragged him out by one leg andheld him with his head down. He did not cry then; he has nevercried since."

"He looked like one of us, like a Shis-Inday," repliedGo-yat-thlay. "Long time after I learned at the agency, when we hadcome back from Sonora, that his mother was a white woman."

A terrible expression crossed the cruel face of Go-yat-thlay. Heleaped to his feet, whipping out his knife as he arose. "You talkmuch, Juh, of killing Shoz-Dijiji," he said in a low voice. "Tentimes have the rains come since first you would have killed him andyou are still talking about it. Now you may kill him; but first youmust kill Go-yat-thlay!"

"Then keep still. You talk too much—like an old woman. Youare not Naliza; when Naliza talks he says something." Go-yat-thlayslipped his knife into his belt and squatted again upon his heels.With silver tweezers he plucked the hairs from about his mouth.Cochise and Naliza laughed, but Juh sat there frowning. Juh thatterrible man who was already coming to be known as "thebutcher."

Shoz-Dijiji, from the interior of his father's hut, heard thistalk among his elders and when Go-yat-thlay sprang to his feet andShoz-Dijiji thought that blood would be spilled he stepped from thedoorway, in his hands a mesquite bow and a quartz-tipped arrow. Hisstraight, black hair hung to his shoulders, his brown hide wassun-tanned to a shade even deeper than many of his full-bloodApache fellows. The trained muscles of his boyish face gave no hintof what emotions surged within him as he looked straight into Juh'seyes.

"You lie, Juh," he said; "I am not a white-eyes. I am the son ofGo-yat-thlay. Say that I am not a white, Juh!" and he raised hisarrow to a level with the warrior's breast.

Cochise and Naliza and Go-yat-thlay, grinning, looked at Juh andthen back at Shoz-Dijiji. They saw the boy bend the bow and thenCochise interfered.

The boy lowered his weapon. "Cochise is chief," he said."Shoz-Dijiji obeys his chief. But Shoz-Dijiji has spoken; some dayhe will be a warrior and then he will kill Juh." He turned andwalked away.

"Do not again tell him that he is white," said Cochise to Juh."Some day soon he will be a warrior and if he thinks that he iswhite it will make his heart like water against the enemies of ourpeople."

Shoz-Dijiji did not return to the women and children. His heartwas in no mood for play nor for any of the softer things of life.Instead he walked alone out of the camp and up a gaunt, parchedcanyon. He moved as noiselessly as his own shadow. His eyes, hisears, his nostrils were keenly alert, as they ever were, forShoz-Dijiji was playing a game that he always played even when heseemed to be intent upon other things—he was hunting thewhite soldiers. Sometimes, with the other boys, he played that theywere raiding a Mexican rancheria, but this sport afforded him nosuch thrill as did the stalking of the armed men who were alwayshunting his people.

He had seen the frightened peons huddled in their huts, orfutilely running to escape the savage, painted warriors who setupon them with the fury of demons; he had seen the women andchildren shot, or stabbed, or led to death with the men; he hadseen all—without any answering qualm of pity; but it had notthrilled him as had the skirmishes the soldiers of Mexico and theUnited States—ah, there was something worthy the mettle of agreat warrior!

From infancy he had listened to the stories of the deeds of thewarriors of his people. He had hung breathless upon the exploits ofVictorio, of Mangas Colorado, of Cochise. For over three hundredyears his people had been at war with the whites; their lands hadbeen stolen, their warriors, their women and their children hadbeen ruthlessly murdered; they had been treated with treachery;they had been betrayed by false promises.

Shoz-Dijiji had been taught to look upon the white man not onlyas a deadly enemy, but as a coward and a liar; even as a traitor tohis fellow whites, for it was not unknown to this little Apache boythat there were many white men who made a living selling rifles andammunition to the Indians while their own troops were in the fieldagainst them. It was no wonder Shoz-Dijiji held the whites incontempt, or that to be called white was the bitterest insult thatcould be placed upon him.

Today, as he moved silently up the sun-scorched canyon he wasthinking of these things and listening, listening, alwayslistening. Perhaps he would hear the distant thud of iron-shodhoofs, the clank of a saber, and be the first to warn his people ofthe approaching enemy. He knew that there were scouts farafield—eagle-eyed men, past whom not even klij-litzogue, theyellow snake, could glide unseen; yet he loved to dream, for he wasa boy.

The dreaming that Shoz-Dijiji practiced did not dull his senses;on the contrary it was thus that he made them more alert, for helived his dreams, rehearsing always the part of the great warriorthat he hoped some day to play upon the stage of life, winning theplaudits of his fellows.

And so it was that now he saw something behind a little bush ahundred feet away, although the thing had not moved or otherwisebetrayed its presence. For an instant Shoz-Dijiji became a bronzestatue, then very slowly he raised his mesquite bow as he strunghis quartz-tipped arrow. With the twang of the string the arrowleaped to its mark and after it came Shoz-Dijiji. He had not waitedto see if he had made a hit; he knew that he had, also he knew whathad been hiding behind the bush and so he was not surprised norparticularly elated when he picked up Ka-Chu, the jack rabbit, withan arrow through its heart; but it was not Ka-Chu that hesaw—it was the big chief of the white soldiers. Thus playedShoz-Dijiji, the Apache boy.

As he came into camp later in the afternoon he saw Cochisesquatting in the shadow of his hut with several of the men of thevillage. There were women, too, and all were laughing and talking.It was not a council, so Shoz-Dijiji dared approach and speak tothe great chief.

There was that upon the boy's mind that disturbed him—hewished it settled once and for all—yet he trembled a littleas he approached this company of his elders. Like all the otherboys he stood in awe of Cochise and he also dreaded the ridicule ofthe men and women. He came and stood silently for what seemed along time, looking straight at Cochise until the old chieftainnoticed him.

"Shoz-Dijiji is a little boy," said the lad, "and Cochise is agreat chief; he is the father of his people; he is full of wisdomand true are the words that he speaks. Juh has said thatShoz-Dijiji is white. Shoz-Dijiji would rather be dead than white.The great chief can speak and say if Shoz-Dijiji be a true Apachethat after this Juh may keep a still tongue in his head."

Cochise arose and placed his hand on the boy's head and lookeddown upon him. A fierce and terrible old man was this great warchief of the Apaches; yet with his own people and more often withchildren was his heart soft, and, too, he was a keen judge of menand of boys.

He saw that this boy possessed in a degree equal to his own apride of blood that would make of him a stalwart defender of hisown kind, an implacable enemy of the common foe. Year by year thefighting forces of the Apache were dwindling, to lose even one forthe future was a calamity. He looked up from the boy and turned hiseyes upon his warriors.

"If there be any doubt," he said, "let the words of Cochisedispel it forever—Shoz-Dijiji is as true an Apache asCochise. Let there be no more talk," and he looked directly at Juh."I have spoken."

The muscles of Juh's cruel face gave no hint of the rage andmalice surging through his savage breast, but Shoz-Dijiji, theBlack Bear, was not deceived. He well knew the relentless hatredthat the war chief had conceived for him since the day thatGo-yat-thlay had thwarted Juh's attempt to dash out his infantbrains against the tire of his murdered father's wagon, even thoughthe lad knew nothing of the details of that first encounter and hadoften wondered why Juh should hate him.

As a matter of fact Juh's hatred of the boy was more or lessimpersonal, in so far as Shoz-Dijiji was concerned, being rather around-a-bout resentment against Go-yat-thlay, whom he feared and ofwhose fame and prestige he was jealous; for Go-yat-thlay, who wasone day to become world famous by his Mexican-given name, Geronimo,had long been a power in the war councils of the Apaches; further,too, the youngest and prettiest of his squaws had also been thedesired of Juh. It was she who had the care of Shoz-Dijiji; it wasshe, Morning Star, who lavished love upon the boy. To strike at thewoman who had spurned him and the man who had inflamed his envy andjealousy, Juh bided his time until he might, with impunity, wreakhis passion upon the lad.

Now no one had time for thoughts of anger or revenge, fortonight was to be a great night in the camp of Cochise the warchief. For two days the bucks had eaten little or nothing inpreparation for the great event; the women had brewed the tizwin;the drums were ready. Night fell. Before the entrance to his hoganstood Go-yat-thlay with his women and his children. From a beadedbuckskin bag he took a pinch of hoddentin and cast it toward themoon.

"Gun-ju-le, chil-jilt; si-chi-zi, gun-ju-le; inzayu, ijanale! Begood, 0 Night; Twilight, be good; do not let me die!" he cried, andthe women prayed: "Gun-ju-le, klego-na-ay—be good, 0Moon!"

Darkness deepened. Lured by the twinkling fires of theChihuicahuis myriad stars crept from their hiding places. Thepurple hills turned to silver. A coyote voiced his eerie wail andwas answered by the yapping pack within the camp. A drum boomedlow. A naked warrior, paint-streaked—yellow, vermillion,white, blue—moved into a slow dance. Presently others joinedhim, moving more rapidly to the gradually increased tempo of thedrums. Firelight glistened upon sweat-streaked bodies. The squaws,watching, moved restlessly, the spell of the dance was taking itshold upon them.

That night the warriors drank deep of the tizwin the women hadbrewed, and as little Black Bear lay in his blankets he heard theshouting, the wild laughter, the fighting and dreamed of the daywhen he, too, should be a warrior and be able to sit up and drinktizwin and dance and fight; but most of all he wanted to fight thewhite man, not his own people.

Stealing the brains of the warriors was the tizwin until theiractions were guided only by stark brutish germ of savagery. Thus itcame that Juh, seeing Go-yat-thlay, bethought himself ofShoz-Dijiji and his hate. Leaving the firelight and the revellers,Juh moved quietly through the outer shadows toward the hogan ofGo-yat-thlay.

Black Bear lay wide awake, listening to the alluring, savagesounds that came to him through the open doorway that similarlyrevealed to his childish eyes occasional glimpses of the orgy.Suddenly, in the opening, the figure of a man was silhouettedagainst the glimmering firelight beyond. Shoz-Dijiji recognized Juhinstantly and, too, the knife grasped in the war chief's sinewyhand and knew why he had come.

Beside the child lay the toys of a primitive boy—toystoday, the weapons of the coming warrior tomorrow. He reached forthand seized his bow and an arrow. Juh, coming from the lesserdarkness without, was standing in the doorway accustoming his eyesto the gloom of the hogan's interior.

Keen-eared savage that he was he heard no sound, forShoz-Dijiji, too, was a savage and he made no sound—not untilhis bow-string twanged; but that was too late for Juh to profit byit as already a quartz-tipped shaft had torn into his right handand his knife had slipped from nerveless fingers to the ground.

With a savage Apache oath he leaped forward, but still he couldnot see well in the darkness, and so it was that Black Bear slippedpast him and was out of the hut before Juh could seize him. A dozenpaces away the boy halted and wheeled about.

"Come out, Juh," he cried, "and Shoz-Dijiji will kill you! Comeout, gut of a coyote, and Shoz-Dijiji will feed your heart to thedogs." Shoz-Dijiji said other things, that are printable, but Juhdid not come out, for he knew that the boy was voicing no vainboast.

An hour passed and Juh was thinking hard, for the effects of thetizwin had lessened under the stress of his predicament. Supposethe squaws should return and find him held prisoner here by aboy—he would be laughed out of camp. The thought sobered himcompletely.

"Juh had it not in his heart to harm Shoz-Dijiji," he said in aconciliatory tone. "He did but joke."

"Juh has not yet harmed Shoz-Dijiji," mocked the lad in whosemind was slowly awakening a thought suggested by Juh's offer. Whynot make capital of his enemy's predicament? "Shoz-Dijiji will letyou go," he said, "if you will promise never to harm himagain—and give him three ponies."

"The women and the children will laugh at you behind their handswhen they hear of this," the boy reminded him.

For a moment Juh was silent. "It shall be as Shoz-Dijiji says,"he growled presently, "so long as no one knows of this thing thathas just happened, other than Juh and Shoz-Dijiji. Juh hasspoken—that is all!"

"Come forth, then, Juh, and go your way," said the boy; "butremember they must be good ponies."

He stood aside as the warrior strode from the hogan, and he wascareful to stand out of the man's reach and to keep his weapon inreadiness, for after all he had no great confidence in the honor ofJuh.

III. — YAH-IK-TEE

ANOTHER year rolled around. Once again were theBe-don-ko-he, the Cho-kon-en and the Ned-ni camped together andwith them were the Chi-hen-ne, with Victorio, old Nanay and Loco.Together they had been raiding in Chihuahua and Sonora. It had beena prosperous year for the tribes, a year rich in loot; and forlittle Shoz-Dijiji it had been a wonderful year. Bright, alert, hehad learned much. He had won a name and that had helped him too,for the other boys looked up to him and even the great chiefs tooknotice of him.

Cochise had developed a real affection for the stalwartyoungster, for he saw in a lad who could face fearlessly a renownedchief such as Juh was, even at that time, a potential leader of hispeople in the years to come.

Often the old war chief talked to Shoz-Dijiji of the exploits ofhis people. He told him of the many wars with the Comanches and theNavajos, of raids upon the villages of the Pimos and the Papagos;and he filled his heart with yearning to emulate the glorious deedsof the great warriors who had made terrible the name of theApaches, the Shis-Inday, the Men of the Woods, from the ArkansasRiver in Colorado on the north, south to Durango, Mexico, more thanfive hundred miles below the border; and from the California lineon the west to San Antonio, Texas, on the east—an empire aslarge as Europe.

"And of all this, I, Cochise, am war chief," cried the oldwarrior. "Soon you will be a brave. So fight that you will fill ourenemies with fear and our warriors with admiration so that,perhaps, you some day may be war chief of all the Apaches."

IT was May. Flowers starred the rolling pasture land, green withgrama grass on which the ponies were fattening after the gruellingmonths of raiding south of the border. The braves loafed much aboutthe camp, smoking and gambling. The squaws and the children tilleda little patch of ground, and once again some of the women brewedtizwin, for there was to be a great dance before the tribesscattered to their own countries. The crushed corn had been soakedand was fermenting; the mescal was roasting upon hot stones in itspit; a Yuma squaw, a prisoner of war, was making a paste of soakedmaize in a metate. The paste she patted into thin, round cakes andbaked.

Little Ish-kay-nay watched her, for she loved tortillas andwished to learn how to make them. Ish-kay-nay was eleven, verydirty, almost naked and entirely lovely. Her lithe young bodyapproximated perfection as closely as may anything mortal. Hertangled hair fell over a mischievous, beautiful face from whichlaughing eyes, serious now, watched intently every move of theYuma. The long, black lashes and the arched brows had not yet beenplucked, for Ish-kay-nay still had three years of childhood beforeher. Her name means boy, and to see her romp and play was all thatwas necessary to make one understand why she was given thatname.

Night had come. The sacrificial hoddentin had been offered tothe evening and to the moon. The dancing, the feasting, thedrinking commenced. Among the dancers moved the medicine men, theizze-nantan of the Apaches, tossing hoddentin, mumbling gibberish,whirling their tzi-ditindes to frighten away the evil spirits.

That night the braves got gloriously drunk. Perhaps the medicineof the izze-nantan was good medicine, for the Mexican soldiers whohad come up out of the south to raid them made camp a few milesaway instead of attacking that night. Had they done so the flowerof the six tribes of the Apaches would have been wiped out, foreven Cochise, the war chief, lay unconscious in the grip of thetizwin.

The following day the braves were tired and cross. They lay aroundthe camp and there was much quarreling. Cochise was very sick.Go-yat-thlay, Victorio, Juh, Hash-ka-ai-la, Chief of the WhiteMountain Apaches, and Co-si-to, Chief of the Chi-e-a-hen,forgathered and discussed the wisdom of immediately separating thetribes before there was an open break. Well they knew the savagefollowers. Not for long could the tribes associate withoutsquabbles, brawls and bloody duels. Tomorrow, at the latest, theydecided, each tribe would take up its trail to its own huntinggrounds.

Shoz-Dijiji, tiring of play with the other children, took hisbow and arrows and his lance and started up the ridge above camp.Today he was a scout under orders from Cochise. The enemy wasthought to be close and because Shoz-Dijiji had the eyes ofitza-chu, the eagle, and was as brave as shoz-litzogue, the yellowbear, Cochise had sent him out alone to discover the whereabouts ofthe foe. Thus dreamed Shoz-Dijiji as he moved silently and swiftlyup the steep mountain, taking advantage of every cover, noiseless,invisible. Thus learned Shoz-Dijiji the ways of hispeople—the ways of the Apache.

From the headwaters of the Gila far south into the Sierra Madremountains in Mexico, Shoz-Dijiji already knew every canyon, everypeak, every vantage point. He knew where water ran or stood theyear round; he knew where it stood after each rain and for howlong; he knew where one might discover it by scratching in the bedof a dry stream, and where one must dig deep for its precious boon.This was but a fraction of the countless things that Shoz-Dijijiknew about his own country. He knew nothing about Latin or Greek;he had never heard of Rome or Babylon; but he could take care ofhimself better at eleven than the majority of white men can attheir prime and he had learned more useful things from actualexperience than the white boy ever learns.

Therefore, this day, though he played, he played with judgment,with intelligence. He did not just fare forth and make believe thathe was scouting for an enemy—he did scout. He moved to thebest position within a radius of fifty miles, and when he reachedit he knew just where to look for an enemy; he knew the trails theymust follow to reach his people's camp; and the first thing that hesaw when he looked toward the south, toward Sonora, toward the landof their hereditary enemies, brought a wave of savage exultationsurging through his brown body.

There, on the plain, twenty miles away, moving steadily towardthe camp of the Shis-Inday was a long column of dust. All the sixtribes lay unsuspecting below him, so it would not be Apaches thatwere advancing toward them, and if it were not Apaches it must bean enemy. His eyes were keen, but the column was enveloped in dust;however, he was confident from the formation that he was looking ata body of mounted troops.

For just an instant longer he watched them, while he revolved inhis mind the plan of action best to follow. The enemy was ten milessouth of camp, Shoz-Dijiji was ten miles north. They were mountedbut it would take them longer to ascend the rocky trail than itwould take Shoz-Dijiji to descend the mountain and give thewarning; otherwise he would have resorted to smoke signals toapprise his people of their danger. That he might still do, but theenemy would see the signals, too, and know that the Indians werenear and aware of their presence. Shoz-Dijiji pictured instead asurprise ambush in a narrow canyon just below the Apaches'camp.

Already he was leaping swiftly down the mountain side. Speed,now, meant everything and he was less careful of concealment, yetneither did he entirely neglect it, for to the Apache it was secondnature. He did not fear detection by the main body of the enemy,but he knew that they might have scouts far out in front, thoughhis keen eyes had seen nothing of them. With streaming hair the boyflew down the steep declivity, as trailless as the Mountains of theMoon. If he could reach camp ten minutes ahead of the enemy hispeople would be saved. He knew that he could do so; there was noguess work about it.

The warriors were, for the most part, sleeping off the effectsof the tizwin. Some were gambling. Others were still quarreling.The squaws, as usual, were working, caring for their babies,cooking food, preparing hides, gathering firewood; carrying water.The bosom friends, Victorio and Go-yat-thlay, were emerging fromthe shelter of Cochise, who was still very sick, when Shoz-Dijijibounded into camp and ran directly to the two chiefs.

"Soldiers!" he said, and pointed down toward the plain. "Fromthe mountain top Shoz-Dijiji saw them. There are many soldiers andthey come on horses. There is yet time, if you make haste, to hidewarriors on either side of the canyon before the pindah lickoyeepass through."

The chiefs asked him a few brief questions, then they ranquickly through the camp calling the warriors to arms. There waslittle noise, but there seemed to be a great deal of confusion. Thesquaws gathered up their few belongings preparatory to taking tothe mountains if hard pressed. The warriors caught up their weaponsand gathered around their chiefs; the Be-don-ko-he aroundGo-yat-thlay; the Chi-hen-ne, or Warm Springs Apaches, aroundVictorio; the Chi-e-a-hen to Co-si-to; the White Mountain Apachesto Hash-ka-ai-la; the Ned-ni to Juh; and the Cho-kon-en, orChihuicahui, to Na-chi-ta, the son of Cochise.

There was hasty daubing of paint on swart faces as the chiefsled them out from camp to take the places that Go-yat-thlay, actingwar chief, had allotted to each tribe. Stripped to loin cloth,moccasins and head band or kerchief the fighting men of the Apachesmoved silently down among the cedars to their positions. Ahead ofthem Go-yat-thlay had sent scouts to ascertain the position of theenemy and before the warriors reached the place of ambush one ofthese had returned to say that the soldiers were but a mile fromthe lower mouth of the canyon.

There was ample time to dispose of his forces to the bestadvantage and this Geronimo did like the able war chief that hewas. Swiftly, silently the savage defenders moved into position andin five minutes both sides of the canyon's rim were bristling withunseen weapons—bows, with arrows of quartz and iron, lancessimilarly shod, ancient Mississippi Yaugers, Spencer carbines,Springfield rifles, six-shooters from the house of Colt; filledcartridge belts were strapped around slim waists, or carried acrossbroad shoulders.

Behind the advance line there were reserves; in camp were theold men and the boys, left to guard the women and the children;though the women were often as savage fighters as their men.

From the bottom of the canyon there was no sign of all this. Asoft wind soughed through the cedars and the pines; there was noother sound. Only the trees and the birds and the squirrels, itseemed, inhabited this sylvan world.

The scouts of the enemy, wary, entered the canyon. They were buta short distance in advance of the main body which consisted of acompany of Mexican cavalry, well mounted, well armed, wellofficered; veteran Indian fighters, they were, to the last man.

Go-yat-thlay waited until that last man was well inside the jawsof death, then he raised his carbine to his shoulder and fired. Itwas the signal. Mingling with the staccato of the rifle fire werethe war whoops of the Apaches, the commands of the officers,curses; the moans and screams of the wounded. There was no coverfor the troops as the Apaches were firing down upon them fromabove. Terrified horses, riderless, or unmanageable from pain orfright, added to the confusion wrought by the unexpected attack.Courageous as they might be the Mexicans had no chance, and thattheir officers realized this at the first volley was apparent bythe effort they made to extricate as large a part of their forcefrom the trap as was humanly possible.

With six or eight troopers the commander opened fire on thehidden foe, aiming at the spurts of smoke that alone revealed theposition of the Indians, and thus reduced their fire while the bulkof his command turned and raced for the mouth of the canyon, wherethe braves that Geronimo had placed advantageously against thisvery emergency fired down upon them from both sides of the rim ofthe canyon's lower end.

Like sheep they went to the slaughter, only a few escaping,while the handful that had remained to offer their fellows thismeager chance for life were wiped out to the last man.

Shoz-Dijiji, slipping away from the camp, had sneaked to avantage point from which he might witness the battle, and as hewatched his heart filled with pride at realization of the superiorgeneralship and strategy of his savage sire. His blood leaped tothe excitement of the moment and his brown fingers itched to drawthe bow against the enemy.

He saw the rout of the Mexicans and he joined the rush ofyelling, whooping braves that swarmed down the sides of the canyonto dispatch the wounded and loot the dead. In his path a woundedMexican raised himself upon one elbow and Shoz-Dijiji shot himthrough the throat. As the trooper sank to earth again the lad drewhis hunting knife and scalped him, and his eyes blazed with thedeep fire of what was almost religious exaltation as he consummatedthis act in the Apaches' sacred drama—war.

All about him the warriors were torturing the living andmutilating the dead and Shoz-Dijiji watched, interested; but he didnot follow their examples in these things. Why he did not, he couldnot have told. He felt neither pity nor compassion, for he had beentaught neither one nor the other by precept or example. Deep withinhim, perhaps, there was forming, nebulously, the conviction that inafter years guided him in such matters, that it added nothing tothe luster of a warrior's fame to have the blood of the defenselessupon his weapons.

He could kill with savage delight, but he took no joy in thesufferings of his victims; and in this respect he was not the onlyexception among his fellows to the general rule that all Apachestook delight in inflicting diabolical sufferings upon the helpless.This was not the first time that he had seen Mexican soldiersfight, and having found them fearless and worthy foes he hadconceived for them that respect which every honorable fighting manfeels for a brave antagonist. To have killed one, then, was a highhonor and Shoz-Dijiji was filled with justifiable pride as heviewed the dripping trophy of his prowess.

Geronimo, blood-spattered, grim, terrible, saw him and smiled,and passed on to send a small party after the retreating Mexicanswho had escaped, that he might be assured that there was not alarger party of the enemy to the south, or that the others did notturn back to seek revenge.

The grim aftermath of an Apache victory completed, thevictorious warriors, laden with loot and bearing a few scalps,returned, exulting, boasting, to the camp, where the women andchildren greeted them with shrill cries of praise.

That night there was feasting and dancing—the scalpdance—and the loot was divided.

The following day four of the tribes withdrew to separate campsshort distances apart, leaving only the Be-don-ko-he and theCho-kon-en in the main camp, and there they waited until thetrailers had returned and reported that the Mexicans had crossedthe border in retreat; then they scattered to their own huntinggrounds.

Cochise was yet very ill and so Geronimo held his tribe with theCho-kon-en, for to him the old war chief was as a second father. Heexhorted Nakay-do-klunni and Nan-ta-do-tash, the medicine men, toexert their utmost powers in behalf of the old warrior; but thoughthey made their best medicine Cochise grew weaker day by day. Andthen one day he called Geronimo to him where he lay in his rudeshelter upon blankets and furs.

"My son," said the old chief, "the spirits of the white men thathe has killed are clamoring for the life of Cochise.Nakay-do-klunni and Nan-ta-do-tash cannot make medicine strongenough to drive away the spirits of the white-eyes.

"Send then for all the great chiefs of the Apaches. Tell them tocome and help Nakay-do-klunni and Nan-ta-do-tash frighten away thespirits of the pindah lickoyee, for they fear our war chiefs morethan they do our izze-nantan. Go, Geronimo, or Cochise will surelydie."

And so Geronimo sent runners to the four tribes, summoning Nanayand Victorio and Loco, Hash-ka-ai-la, Co-si-to and Juh; and theyall came and with Geronimo and the warriors of the Be-don-ko-he andthe Cho-kon-en they sat before the wigwam of Cochise and while somebeat upon hides stretched over sticks they all chanted songs thatwould fill the spirits of the white-eyed men with fear and drivethem from the body of their war chief.

They sat in a circle about a large fire beside which layCochise. Nakay-do-klunni and Nan-ta-do-tash, wearing the sacredizze-kloth and elaborate medicine headdress, danced in a circleabout the sick man and the fire. The bodies of the izze-nantanswere painted a greenish brown and upon each arm was a yellow snakewith the heads toward the shoulder blades.

Upon the breast of Nakay-do-klunni was painted a yellow bear andon his back were zig-zag lines denoting lightning, whileNan-ta-do-tash had lightning upon both back and breast. Dancing,bending low to right and left, forward and back, spinning first ina circle upon the left foot and then around again in the oppositedirection upon the right, they voiced a weird whistling sound. NowNan-ta-do-tash advanced toward Cochise and sprinkled hoddentin uponhis arms and legs in the form of a cross and as he backed away toresume the dancing Nakay-do-klunni took his place beside the dyingchieftain and made similarly the mystic symbol upon his head andbreast.

For six weeks Cochise lay ill and for nearly all of this time thewarriors and medicine men, working in relays and assisted by thewomen and the children, sought continuously by day and by night tofrighten away the malevolent spirits by incantation and bynoise.

Shoz-Dijiji added his bit, for he was fond of Cochise in whom hehad always found an understanding as well as a powerful friend.Genuine was the sorrow of the lad in the sickness of his friend,and often he went alone into the mountains and prayed to Usen,asking him to let Cochise live; but not all the big medicine of thegreatest of living izze-nantans, or even the love of a little boycould avail, and so it was that early in June, 1874, Cochise, thewar chief of all the Apaches, went out upon the long, lasttrail.

All that night there was wailing and chanting and the beating ofdrums and early in the morning Geronimo and Victorio who had closedthe dead chief's eyes after he had died, came and painted his faceafresh as for the war trail. They dressed him in his best buckskinshirt and moccasins and wrapped him in his finest blanket, whileoutside the rude shelter the tribes gathered to do honor for thelast time to a wise and courageous leader.

The warriors and the women were arrayed in their finest: fringedbuckskin and silver and bead work; heavy earrings of turquoise andsilver; necklaces of glass beads, berries and turquoise, some ofthem a yard long, fell, a dozen or more perhaps, over a singledeep, savage chest. The chiefs and the izze-nantans wore gorgeouswar bonnets or medicine headdresses and each grim face was mademore terrible by the pigments of the warpath. And always there wasthe wailing and the sound of the es-a-da-ded.

Apart from the others sat a boy, dry-eyed and silent, sorrowingfor the loss of a kindly, gentle friend. In the mind ofShoz-Dijiji, who could not recall the time when he had not knownthe great chief, the name of Cochise suggested naught but courage,wisdom, honor and loyalty. Shocked and angry would he have beencould he have sensed the horror that that grim name aroused in thebreasts of the pindah lickoyee.

Three warriors came, each leading one of Cochise's best ponies,and two stalwart braves raised the dead chieftain and lifted himastride that one which had been his favorite, in front of ChiefLoco, who held the corpse in an upright position.

They bore his arms before him as they started for the grave, theprocession led by four great chiefs, Geronimo, Victorio, Nanay andJuh, with the balance of his people trailing behind the two poniesthat were led directly in rear of the dead chief.

Juh, glancing back, saw a lad fall into the procession directlybehind the last pony and a fierce scowl made more terrible hisugly, painted face. He halted the funeral cortege and the otherchiefs turned and looked at him questioningly.

"Only those of the blood of the Shis-Inday may follow a greatchief to his last resting place," he announced. The others gruntedacknowledgment of the truth of that statement. "Shoz-Dijiji, theson of a white-eyed man, follows the war ponies of Cochise," saidJuh, angrily. "Send him away!"

The inscrutable blue eyes of Geronimo regarded the chief of theNed-ni, but he did not speak. His hand moved to the hilt of hisknife, that was all.

"Let the boy come to the grave of his friend," said Victorio."Cochise loved him. He is, too, as good an Apache as you or I. Didhe not warn the tribes and save them from the Mexicans. With my owneyes I, Victorio, saw him slay and scalp. Let him come!"

With a scowl Juh fell in behind the chief of the Be-don-ko-heand the procession took up again its winding way along the trailtoward the burial place, the mourners chanting in wailing tones thedeeds of valor of the dead chief as they bore him into the mountainfastness.

For twelve miles they marched until they came to a new-madegrave, hill-hidden from the eyes of foemen. It was a large gravewith its sides walled up with stone to a height of three feet. Uponits floor they laid thick blankets and upon these they laidCochise, wrapped in his two finest; beside him they placed hisweapons and his most cherished belongings; across his breast washis izze-kloth, or sacred medicine cord, and inside his buckskinshirt they tucked an amulet, a tzi-daltai, made of lightning rivenwood, carved and painted by the chief himself and blessed by agreat izze-nantan.

Then across the grave they laid poles of mescal, resting uponthe stone walls, and over these they placed blankets to keep thedirt which they now shoveled in from falling upon the corpse. Mixedwith the dirt were many stones, that the coyotes might not disturbthe chief's last sleep.

During the last rites the wailing of the mourners rose and fell,merging with the drums and the chants and cries of the medicinemen; and then his three ponies were led away to the northwest inthe direction of the Grand Canyon three hundred miles away. At twohundred yards one of them was shot, and another a mile from thegrave and the third, the favorite war pony of the dead chief, stillanother mile farther on, that he might be well mounted on his wayto the Spirit Land.

Sorrowfully the tribes turned back toward camp, where the bloodrelatives of Cochise destroyed all their belongings and the tribeall its provisions, so that for forty-eight hours thereafter theywere without food, for such is the custom of the Apaches.

Cochise, war chief of all the Apaches, was dead. Cochise, warchief of all the Apaches, was yah-ik-tee.

IV. — THE NEW WAR CHIEF

THE council gathered, the chiefs and the warriorssitting in a great circle about a central fire. Naliza, the orator,arose and stepped within the circle.

"Men of the Shis-Inday listen to Naliza," he began. "Cochise isnot present. We have many brave chiefs, but we have no war chief towhom all the tribes will listen and whom they will follow upon thewar trail. It is not well that we should be thus unprepared againstour enemies. Tonight we must select one who will by his bravery setour warriors an example upon the field of battle and by his wisdomlead us to victory.

"The war chief of the Be-don-ko-he has suffered great wrongs atthe hands of our enemies and he has wrought upon them a greatrevenge. He has led his people, and often ours, many times upon thewar trail against the foe. Cochise trusted him. Cochise knew thathe was a great leader and upon his death bed Cochise counselled usto name Geronimo war chief of all the Apaches when Cochise shouldbe tats-an. I, Naliza, have spoken."

Others spoke, then, some for Geronimo, some for Victorio andsome for Juh, for each was a great warrior and a great chief. Then,one after another, around the great circle, each warrior cast hisvote and Geronimo became war chief of all the Apaches; and later inthe evening Na-chi-ta, son of Cochise, was accepted by theCho-kon-en to succeed his father as chief of that most warlike oftribes, the Chihuicahui Apaches.

Shoz-Dijiji was squatting near the wives of the dead Cochiselistening to them wail when suddenly out of the deep woods came thehoot of an owl. Instantly all was silence; the wailing ceased andthe women looked at one another in terror.

"Listen!" whispered one of the squaws. "It is the spirit ofCochise, he has returned and he is trying to speak to us. What doeshe want?"

"Have we not done everything to make him happy on his journey tochidin-bi-kungua, the house of spirits?" demanded another.

"He is not happy, he has come back," whimpered a young squaw andthen with a muffled scream, she lifted a shaking finger and pointedtoward the black woods. "Look! It is he, come back."

They all looked. To their overwrought imaginations, harried bydays of mourning and ages of superstition, anything was possible,and it was not strange that they should see the vague and nebulousoutlines of a warrior standing among the deep shadows of the trees.They shuddered and hid their faces in their blankets, and when theydared look again the apparition disappeared.

Attracted by their screams some warriors had joined them, andwhen they heard the cause of the women's terror they sent forNakay-do-klunni to arrange for a feast and a dance that the spiritof Cochise might be appeased and made happy on its journey tochidin-bi-kungua.

The sorrows of death do not lie heavily or for long upon the spiritof youth and so on the morrow the children romped and played andShoz-Dijiji organized a rabbit hunt with Gian-na-tah, his bestfriend, and a dozen others who could borrow or steal ponies for thepurpose. Laughing and joking, they rode down to the foot of themountains, each lad armed with a hunting club.

A mile behind them a childish figure astride a pinto pony lashedits mount with a rawhide quirt in an effort to overtake the lopingponies of the boys, and when the latter halted to discuss theirplans the belated one overtook them. The first boy to discover andrecognize the newcomer raised a shout of derision.

"A girl! A girl!" he cried. "Go back to camp. Only warriorsfollow the chase, go back to camp with the squaws and thechildren."

But the little girl did not go back. Her dishevelled hairflying, she rode among them.

"Go back yourself!" shrilled the little girl as she lashed himacross the head and shoulders with her quirt, pushing her ponyagainst his until he fled in dismay. The other boys screamed inderision at the discomfited one, yet some of them could not resistthe temptation to bait the girl and so they rode in and struck ather pony with their clubs. Lashing to right and left her stingingquirt fell impartially upon them and their mounts, nor did she givea foot of ground before their efforts to rout her, though by thevery force of their numbers it was evident that she must soonsuccumb in the unequal struggle.

It was then that Shoz-Dijiji rode to her side and swung his clubagainst her tormentors, and Gian-nah-tah, following the example ofhis friend, took a hand in her defense.

Shoz-Dijiji, having killed a bear and scalped an enemy, stoodhigh in the estimation of his fellows who looked upon him as aleader, so that now, when he had taken his stand upon the girl'sside, the outcome of the battle was already a foregone conclusionfor immediately the majority lined themselves up with Shoz-Dijiji.The vanquished scattered in all directions amid the laughter andthe taunts of the victors while both sides felt gingerly ofnumerous bumps and abrasions. It was then that some of the boysagain demanded that the girl return to camp.

She looked questioningly at Shoz-Dijiji, her great brown eyespleading through dishevelled raven locks.

The lad turned to his fellows. "Ish-kay-nay plays like a boy,rides like a boy, fights like a boy. If Ish-kay-nay does not huntwith us today Shoz-Dijiji does not hunt. I have spoken."

Just then one of the lads cried "Ka-Chu!" and, turning, lashedhis pony into a run; a jack rabbit had broken cover and wasbounding away across the plain in long, easy jumps. Instantly thewhole pack was after him and Ish-kay-nay was in the van. Clingingwith naked knees to the bare backs of their wiry little mounts thesavage children streaked after the fleeing Ka-Chu. The foremostlad, overhauling the rabbit, leaned far forward over his pony'sshoulder and struck at the quarry with his hunting club. The rabbitturned directly at right angles across the pony's track and as thelatter, as accustomed to the sport as the boys themselves, turnedsharply in pursuit, the rider, far overbalanced following the blowhe had aimed, tumbled from his mount and rolled over and over uponthe turf. With wild whoops the children followed the chase and asthe rabbit turned and doubled many were the spills of his pursuers.Sometimes a boy, almost within striking distance, would hurl hisclub at the quarry, but today Ka-Chu seemed to bear a charmed lifeuntil at last the plain was dotted with riderless ponies andunhorsed riders, and only two were left in pursuit of the rabbit.Knee to knee raced Shoz-Dijiji and Ish-kay-nay. The rabbit, runningupon the boy's right was close to the pony's forefoot whenShoz-Dijiji leaned down and forward for the kill, but again Ka-Chuturned, this time diagonally across the front of the pony.Shoz-Dijiji missed, and at the same instant Ish-kay-nay's pintostepped in a badger hole, and turning a complete somersaultcatapulted the girl high in air to alight directly in the path ofShoz-Dijiji's pony as it turned to follow the rabbit, and as theboy toppled from its back the active little beast leaped overIsh-kay-nay's head and galloped off with head and tail in theair.

Shoz-Dijiji rolled over twice and stopped in a sitting postureat the girl's side. They looked at each other and the girl grinned.Then she reached beneath her and withdrew the flattened body of therabbit—in falling, the girl had alighted upon the haplessKa-Chu.

"Ish-kay-nay should have been a boy," said Shoz-Dijiji,laughing, "for already she is a mighty hunter."

Together they arose and stood there laughing. Their copperbodies, almost naked, shot back golden highlights to the sun, asthe two tousled black heads bent close above the prey. The lad wasalready a head taller than his companion and well-muscled for hisage, yet they looked more like two lads than a boy and girl, andtheir attitude toward one another was as that of one boy toanother, and not, as yet, as of the man to the maid. Two littlesavages they were, blending into Nature's picture of which theywere as much a part as the rolling brown plain, the tree-dottedfoothills, or the frowning mountains.

Ish-kay-nay's pony, none the worse for its spill, had scrambledto its feet and trotted away a short distance, where it was nowcontentedly feeding upon the grama grass. Still farther away theboy's mount browsed. Shoz-Dijiji looked toward it and whistledonce, shrilly. The pony raised its head and looked in the directionof the sound, then it started toward its master, slowly at first;but at the second whistle, more peremptory than the first, it brokeinto a gallop and came rapidly to stop before the lad.

Shoz-Dijiji mounted and drew Ish-kay-nay up behind him, but whenthey sought to catch the girl's pony it snorted and ran away fromthem. Herding it toward camp the two rode in the direction of theirfellows, some of whom had regained their ponies; and, so, severalof them mounted double, driving the riderless animals ahead, theycame back to camp.

Thus the happy days rolled by with hunting, with games, with play;or there were long trails that led down into Sonora or Chihuahua;there were raids upon Mexican villages; upon wagon trains; uponisolated ranches; there were the enemy's attacks upon their owncamps. In the springs there was the planting if the tribe chancedto be in a permanent camp and then, with wooden hoes, the childrenand the squaws broke the ground, planted the corn in straight rows,melons and pumpkins at haphazard about the field, and the beansamong the corn.

Sometimes the children, tiring of so much work, would run awayto play, staying all day and sneaking into camp at dark, nor werethey ever chided by their elders; but woe betide them should one ofthese discover them in their hiding place, for the ridicule thatwas sure to follow was more bitter to the Apache taste thancorporal punishment would have been.

As the boys, playing, learned to use the weapons of theirpeople, to track, to hunt, to fight, so the girls learned thesimple duties of their sex—learned to prepare the maguey foreach of the numerous purposes to which their people have learned toput this most useful of plants; learned to grind the mesquite beaninto meal and make cakes of it; learned to dry the fruit of theSpanish bayonet; to dress and tan the hides that the braves broughtin from the chase.

And together the children, under the admiring eyes of theirelders, learned the gentle art of torture, practicing upon birdsand animals of the wild and even upon the ponies and dogs of thetribe. Upon these activities Shoz-Dijiji looked with interest; butfor some reason, which he doubtless could not have understood hadhe tried to analyze it, he found no pleasure in inflicting painupon the helpless; nor did this mark him particularly as differentfrom his fellows, as there were others who shared his indifferencesto this form of sport. Apaches are human and as individuals ofother human races vary in their characteristics, so Apaches vary.The Apaches were neither all good, nor all bad.

In the early summer of Shoz-Dijiji's fourteenth year Geronimo andJuh, with half a dozen other warriors, were preparing to make araid into Mexico, and when Shoz-Dijiji heard the talk about thecamp fires he determined, by hook or by crook, to accompany the warparty. He told Gian-nah-tah, his best friend, of this hope whichoccupied his thoughts and Gian-nah-tah said that he would go too,also by hook or by crook.

"Go to Geronimo, your father," counseled Gian-nah-tah, "and tellhim that Shoz-Dijiji and Gian-nah-tah wish to become warriors, andif his heart is good he will let us go out upon the war trail withhim."

"Come with me, then, Gian-nah-tah," replied Shoz-Dijiji, "and Iwill ask him now before chigo-na-ay sets again and yan-des-tangrows dark."

Squatting beneath a tree and holding a small mirror in his lefthand, Geronimo was streaking his face with vermilion, using theindex finger of his right hand in lieu of a brush. He looked up asthe two boys approached. There was a twinkle in his blue eyes as henodded to them.

With few preliminaries Shoz-Dijiji went to the point."Shoz-Dijiji and Gian-nah-tah," he said, "will soon be men. Alreadyhas Shoz-Dijiji slain the black bear in fair fight and upon thefield of battle taken the scalp of the enemy he had killed. Nolonger do Shoz-Dijiji and Gian-nah-tah wish to remain in camp withthe old men, the women and the children while the braves go uponthe war trail. Shoz-Dijiji and Gian-nah-tah wish to go upon the wartrail. They wish to go with the great Geronimo tomorrow.Shoz-Dijiji and Gian-nah-tah await the answer of the great warchief of the Apaches."

Geronimo was eying them keenly while he listened in silenceuntil the boy had finished, nor was there any change in expressionto denote how he was receiving their appeal. For a while after theboy became silent the chief did not speak. He seemed to be weighingthe proposition carefully in his mind. Presently he opened his lipsand spoke in the quiet, low tones that were his.

"Geronimo has been watching Shoz-Dijiji and Gian-nah-tah," hesaid, "and is pleased with them. They are both young, but so toowas Go-yat-thlay when first he went upon the war trail. The time isshort. Go, therefore, this very night to the high places and prayto Usen. Make your medicine, strong medicine, in the high places.Nakay-do-klunni will bless it in the morning. Go!"

Never were two boys more elated, more enthusiastic, more imbuedwith a desire to shout and dance; but they did nothing of the sort.Stolidly, without a change of expression, they turned and walkedaway. They were Apaches and they were on the high road to becomingwarriors. There are times when warriors shout and dance; but suchan occasion was not one of them.

Together the two boys left the camp, heading deep into themountains, Shoz-Dijiji leading, Gian-nah-tah stepping directly inhis tracks. They did not speak, but moved silently at a dog trot,for the time was short. Better would it have been to have spentdays and nights in preparation, but now this could not be. A milefrom camp Gian-nah-tah turned to the left, following a branch ofthe main canyon up which Shoz-Dijiji continued for a matter ofseveral miles, then, turning abruptly to the right he scaled thesloping base of the canyon wall.

Where the fallen rubble from above ended against the rocky cliffside the blackened stump of a lightning-riven pine clungprecariously. Here Shoz-Dijiji paused and, searching, found a flatsplinter of wood not three inches long nor an inch wide and quitethin. With a slender buckskin thong he tied the splinter securelyto his G-string and commenced the ascent of the nearlyperpendicular cliff that towered high above him.

Taking advantage of each crevice and projection the lad creptslowly upward. Scarcely was there an instant when a single slipwould not have hurled him to death upon the tumbled rocks below,and yet he never paused in his ascent, but moved as confidently asthough on level ground, up and up, until, three hundred dizzy feetabove the canyon floor he drew himself to a narrow, niche-likeledge. Settling himself here with his back against the cliff andhis legs dangling over the abyss, he unfastened the pine splinterfrom his G-string and with his hunting knife set to work to fashionit to his purpose.

For an hour he worked unceasingly until the splinter, smoothedupon its two flat sides, suggested, roughly, the figure of a shortlegged, armless man, and had been whittled down to a length of twoand a quarter inches and a width of about a sixth of its greatestdimension. Upon one flat side he carved zigzag lines—two ofthem running parallel and longitudinally. These representedittindi, the lightning. Upon the opposite side he cut two crossesand these he called intchi-dijin, the black wind. When he hadfinished the carving he tied it firmly to a thong of buckskin whichformed a loop that would pass over his head and hang about hisneck.

Thus did Shoz-Dijiji, the Black Bear, fashion his tzi-daltai.From a buckskin bag upon which Morning Star had sewn pretty beadsthe boy took a still smaller bag containing hoddentin, a pinch ofwhich he sprinkled upon each side of the tzi-daltai, and then hetossed a pinch out over the cliff in front of him and one over hisleft shoulder and one over his right and a fourth behind him.

Another pinch of hoddentin he tossed high in air above him. "Begood, 0, ittindi! Make strong the medicine of Shoz-Dijiji that itmay protect him from the weapons of his enemies."

All night he stood there in the high place praying to Usen, toittindi, to the four winds. Making big medicine was Shoz-Dijiji,the Black Bear; praying to be made strong and brave upon the wartrail; praying for wisdom, for strength, for protection; praying tothe kans of his people; and when morning came and the first rays ofchigo-na-ay touched his eerie he still prayed. Not till then did hecease.

As deliberately as he had ascended, the Black Bear climbed downthe escarpment and, apparently as fresh as when he had quit campthe preceding day, trotted rapidly down the canyon and into camp.No one paid any attention to him as he went directly to the shelterof Nakay-do-klunni, the medicine man.

"Nakay-do-klunni," said the lad, "Shoz-Dijiji goes upon the wartrail for the first time today. All night he has prayed in the highplaces. Shoz-Dijiji has made strong medicine. He brings it toNakay-do-klunni to bless, that it may be very strong." He held histzi-daltai toward the izze-nantan.

Nakay-do-klunni, squatting in the dirt, took the amulet and blewupon it; he mumbled gibberish above it; sprinkled hoddentin uponit; made strange passes in the air that thrilledShoz-Dijiji—Shoz-Dijiji, who could climb a sheer precipicewithout a thrill. Then he handed it back to Shoz-Dijiji, gruntedand held out his palm. The lad emptied the contents of his littlepouch into his own hand and selecting a piece of duklij, the impuremalachite that the whites of the Southwest call turquoise, heoffered it to the izze-nantan.

Nakay-do-klunni accepted the proffered honorarium, examined it,dropped it into his own pouch and grunted.

As Shoz-Dijiji turned to depart he passed Gian-nah-tahapproaching the shelter of the medicine man and the two friendspassed one another as though unaware of each other's existence, forthe preparation of the youth aspiring to become a warrior is asacred rite, no detail of which may be slighted or approached withlevity, and silence is one of its prime requisites.

An hour later eight warriors—grim, terrible, paintedmen—set out upon the war trail and with them went two hungryyouths, empty since the morning of the preceding day.

V. — ON THE WAR TRAIL

THROUGH rugged mountains Geronimo led his warparty toward the south, avoiding beaten trails, crossing valleysonly after ten pairs of eagle eyes had scanned them carefully fromthe hidden security of some lofty eminence. Where there might bedanger of discovery he sent a scout far ahead. At night he campedupon the rocky shoulder of some mountain inaccessible to cavalry.There the novitiates brought the firewood, carried the water, ifthere was aught to carry, did the cooking and performed whateverlabor there was to be performed.

All this they did in silence, speaking only when directlyaddressed by a warrior. They ate only what they were told theymight eat and that was little enough, and of the poorest quality.In every conceivable way were their patience, nerve and endurancetried to the utmost, and always were they under the observation ofthe warriors, upon whose final report at some future council woulddepend their acceptance into the warrior class.

On the third day they entered Mexico, and faced a long, waterlessmarch upon the next. That morning Shoz-Dijiji filled a section ofthe large intestine of a horse with water and coiled it twice overhis left shoulder and beneath his right arm. Presently the waterwould become hot beneath the torrid rays of chigo-na-ay, and thecontainer had been cleaned only according to Apache standards ofcleanliness, yet its contents would in no way offend their palates.In quantity there was sufficient to carry them far beyond the nextwater hole.

Shoz-Dijiji hated to carry the water. The container sloshedabout his body and ever had a tendency to slip from his shoulder.With the thermometer 118 in the shade, a hot water bag adds nothingto one's comfort, and, too, this one was heavy; but Shoz-Dijiji didnot complain. He stepped lightly along the trail, nor ever laggedor sulked.

Always he watched every move that the warriors made and listenedwith strict attention to their few words, since the procedure andterminology of war are sacred and must be familiar to everycandidate for warrior honors.

The familiar names of articles used upon the war trail werenever spoken, only their war names being used and the observance ofevery act, however trivial, was tinged with the hue ofreligion.

Perhaps during the long span of man's existence upon Earth therehas never been produced a more warlike race than the Apaches. Theyexisted almost solely by war and for war. Much of their country wasa semiarid waste land, producing little; their agriculture was someager as to be almost nonexistent; they owned no flocks or herds;they manufactured nothing but weapons of war and of the chase andsome few articles of apparel and ornament. From birth they werereared with but one ambition, that of becoming great warriors.Their living and their possessions depended almost wholly upon theloot of war; and for three hundred years they were the scourge of aterritory as large as Europe, a thickly settled portion of whichthey entirely depopulated.

Upon such facts as these had Shoz-Dijiji and Gian-nah-tah beenraised, and now they were taking the first step toward becoming oneof these mighty warriors, the very mention of whose names wassufficient to bring terror to an entire community of white men.

Sometimes when they were alone or unobserved the boys conversed,and upon one of these occasions Shoz-Dijiji exclaimed: "Howwonderful to have been born an Apache! I should think that thewhite-eyed men would prefer death to the shame of not beingApaches. They have no great warriors or we should have heard ofthem and no one is afraid of them. We kill their people and theyfear us so that they promise to feed us in idleness if we will killno more. What manner of men are they who are so without shame! Ifother men kill our people, do we feed them and beg them to do so nomore? No! we go among them and slay ten for every Apache that theyhave killed."

"There are many of them," sighed Gian-nah-tah. "For every ten wekill, there are a hundred more to come. Some day there will be somany that we cannot kill them all; then what will become of theApaches?"

"You have listened to the talk of Nanay," replied Shoz-Dijiji."He is getting old. He does not know what he is talking about. Themore white-eyes there are the more we can kill. Nothing would suitShoz-Dijiji better. I hate them and when I am a great warrior Ishall kill and kill and kill."

"Yes," said Gian-nah-tah, "that will be great medicine, if itdoes not happen that there are more white-eyes than we can kill. Ifthere are we are the ones who will be killed."

In the mountains of Sonora Geronimo camped where he had an almostimpassable mountain fastness at his back and a view of a broadvalley spread out below him, and he was secure in the knowledgethat no enemy could reach him undetected.

The very first day their scouts discovered a wagon train windingup the valley at their feet and Geronimo sent two braves down amongthe foothills to spy upon it. All day the train wound up the valleyand all day savage, unseen eyes watched its every move, saw it gointo camp, saw the precautions that were taken to prevent attack,and carried the word back to the war chief, who had been scoutingin another direction.

"There are twenty wagons, each drawn by eight mules," the scoutreported to Geronimo. "There are twenty Mexicans, well armed. Theyride with their weapons beside them. It is as though they fearedattack, for they are often peering this way and that, and alwaysthose in the rear keep well closed up and glance backoften—there are no stragglers."

"They form their wagons in a circle and inside the circle arethe mules and the men. There were two armed men on guard. They arevigilant."

"They are men," said Geronimo. "Some time they will relax theirvigilance." He turned toward the youths who were busy at the campfire. "Shoz-Dijiji," he called, "come here!"

The lad came and stood before the war chief. "There, in thevalley," said Geronimo, pointing, "the Mexicans are camped. Go andwatch them. Creep as closely to them as you can. If they see youyou will be killed. Return at dawn and tell Geronimo all that youhave discovered. Do not alarm them and do not attack unless you arediscovered. Go!"

Supperless, Shoz-Dijiji faded into the twilight. A shadow, hemoved in denser shadows, keeping to the hills until he cameopposite the camp fires of the freighters. It was dark; the menaround the camp fire could not possibly see far out into the night;yet Shoz-Dijiji did not relax his wariness.

Stooping low, sometimes creeping upon his belly, takingadvantage of whatever cover the plain offered, he advanced closerand closer to the parked wagons. While yet a considerable distancefrom them he silently whittled a bush from its stem, close to theground, and when he had come within a hundred yards of the nearestwagon he was crawling forward upon his belly, holding the bush infront of him. He moved very slowly and very cautiously, advancingby inches, for the art of successful stalking is the art ofinfinite patience. After a short advance he would lie still for along time.

He could hear the voices of the men gathered about the fire. Hecould see one of the armed guards, the one nearer him. The manmoved back and forth just inside the enclosure, occasionallypausing to watch and listen at the gaps between the wagons. It waswhen he was turned away from him that Shoz-Dijiji advanced. At lasthe lay within a foot of one of the wagon wheels and directly behindit.

Now he could hear much of the conversation and what he heard heunderstood fairly well, for his people had often traded amicablywith Mexicans, posing as friendly Indians, though the next day theymight be planning to massacre their hosts, and there had beenMexican prisoners in the camps of the Be-don-ko-he. Through, suchcontacts he had gained a smattering of Spanish, just as he was toacquire a smattering of English, above the border, within the nextyear or two.

He heard the guard, passing close in front of him, grumbling"This is foolish," he called to someone at the camp fire. "We havenot seen an Indian or an Indian sign this whole trip. I do notbelieve that there is an Apache within three hundred miles ofus."

A big man, with a black mustache, squatting before the fire,removed his cigarette from his mouth.

"Neither do I," he replied; "but I do not know. I am taking nochances. I told you before we came out that we would stand guardevery night, turn and turn about, and as long as I am captain ofthis train we shall."

The other grumbled and turned to look out toward the mountainsacross the pole of one of the wagons. Within six feet of him lay anApache. All night he lay there watching, listening.

He learned where they would halt during the heat of thefollowing midday; he learned where they would camp the next nightand the night following that; he saw that guards were changed everytwo hours and that thus the men lost but two hours sleep everyother night. There was no reason, therefore, on this score, whythey should be too sleepy to watch efficiently. He saw that all ofthe men slept with their rifles and six-shooters within easy reach.He knew that a night attack would find them ready and would havelittle chance for success.

Shortly before dawn the wind, which had been blowing gently upthe valley, changed and blew from the hills behind Shoz-Dijiji andacross the camp. Instantly the Apache noted the change and watchedthe mules. At the same time he commenced to worm himself away fromthe parked wagons, holding the bush always as a screen betweenhimself and the camp of the enemy.

He saw a mule raise its head and sniff the air, then another andanother. They moved about restlessly and many of them were lookingout in his direction. This he could see in the light of the firethat the sentries had kept burning all night. He retreated morerapidly for he knew that the animals had caught the scent of anIndian, and he feared that the men would interpret theirrestlessness correctly.

Already the nearer guard had called to his fellow and both werestraining their eyes out into the night, and then, just behind him,Shoz-Dijiji heard the wail of a coyote. He saw the tense attitudesof the men relax as they turned to resume their beats, and hesmiled inwardly as he realized that they attributed therestlessness of their stock to the scent of the coyote. An hourlater he entered camp as silently as he had left it the previousevening.

Geronimo listened to his report, and, after the custom of theApaches, without interruption or comment until Shoz-Dijijiindicated that he had done speaking. He gave no praise, but heasked no questions; rather the highest praise that he could havebestowed, since it indicated that the youth's report was so clearand so complete as to leave no detail of information lacking.

For two days and two nights thereafter the Apaches followed thefreighters, and there was scarcely a moment during that time thatthe Mexicans were not under close observation as the Indians waitedand watched patiently for the moment that the guard of the quarrywould be momentarily lowered, the inevitable moment that the shrewdGeronimo knew would come. Keeping to the hills, along the foot ofwhich the wagon road wound, the noiseless, invisible stalkersfollowed doggedly the slow moving train.

In the gory lexicon of Apache military science there appears nosuch word as chance. To risk one's life, to sacrifice one'swarriors needlessly, is the part of a fool, not of a successful warchief. To give the other fellow a chance is the acme of asininity.In the event of battle men must be killed. If all the killed areamong the enemy so much greater is the credit due the victoriouschief. They have reduced the art of war to its most primitiveconception; they have stripped it stark to its ultimate purpose,leaving the unlovely truth of it quite naked, unadorned bysophistries or hypocrisies—to kill without being killed.

At length Geronimo was convinced of the truth he had at firstsensed—that the Mexicans were most vulnerable during theirmidday rest. Then their wagons were not parked into a circularfortress. The men were hot and tired and drowsy. They were lulledinto a fancied security by the fact that they could see to greatdistances in all directions. Nothing as large as a man couldapproach them unseen. He had even noted that upon one occasion theentire party had dozed simultaneously at a noonday stop, and hemade his plans accordingly.

From his intimate knowledge of the country, the trail, and thecustoms of freighters he knew where the noon stop upon the thirdday of the trailing would be made. That forenoon only one Apachetrailed the unsuspecting Mexicans; the others were far ahead.

Noon approached. The complaining wheels of the great wagonsjolted over the ruts of the road. The sweating mules pulled evenlyand steadily. The drivers, with their single lines and their greatbull-hide whips, urged their teams only sufficiently to keep thetrain well closed up.

Lackadaisically, soporifically, mechanically, they flicked theleaders with their long, pliant lashes. They did not curse theirmules in strident voices as would American skinners. Sometimes theytalked to them in low tones, or, again, they sang, and the mulesplodded on through the dust, which rose in great clouds as theycrossed a low, alkali flat, from which they emerged about noon uponhigher, sandy ground, where the pulling was harder, but where therewas no dust.

Presently the leading wagon stopped and the others drew up aboutit, but in no regular formation. To their left the flat plain rosegently to meet the hills a mile away. To the right, in front ofthem and behind they could see to the distant mountains, empurpledby haze. A brilliant sun seared down upon the scorched land, apitilessly revealing sun in the light of which nothing could hide.There was no breeze; nothing moved and there was no sound. Justsilence was there except as it was broken by the breathing of themules, the creaking or the jangling of a bit of harness.

The captain of the train scanned the landscape in alldirections. Nothing moved, there was nothing irregular within hisrange of vision. Had there been he would have seen it, for he hadspent the best part of his life tracking back and forth acrossSonora.

"Keep a watch, Manuel," he directed one of his men, for even nowhe would not relax his vigilance.

Manuel shrugged, rolled a cigarette, and looked about. Hiscompanions had crawled beneath several of the wagons, where theylay in the shade smoking, or already dozing. As far as he could seethe land lay rollingly level, dotted with small bushes, not one ofwhich would have offered concealment to anything larger than a jackrabbit. The sun was very hot and the shade beneath the wagonslooked inviting to Manuel. He walked along the edge of the teams tothe rearmost one and then back again. Glancing beneath a certainwagon he saw the captain curled up in sleep.

The guard walked all around the twenty wagons, looking off asfar as he could. There were only Indians to fear and there werenone in sight. Jesus Garcia had said that there was not an Apachewithin three hundred miles and Jesus was a famous Indian fighter.He had fought the Apaches and the Yaquis both. Manuel yawned andcrawled beneath a wagon, just to finish his cigarette in theshade.

The mules had settled down to rest, sensible as mules alwaysare. The men dozed, even Manuel, though he had not meant to. Beforethere were ears to hear there could not have lain upon the earth adeeper silence. There seemed no life—but there was. Withintwenty feet of Manuel a pair of eager, savage eyes appraised him.Within a radius of two hundred feet eight other pairs of eager,savage eyes watched the dozing forms of the unconscious prey.

Lying prone, completely buried in the sand, except their eyes,their bows hidden beneath cleverly held bushes, seven warriors andtwo youths awaited the moment of attack. From the hills, a mileaway, another warrior watched. He would come leaping down to battlewhen the attack was made. All day he had been following andwatching the train, ready to warn his fellows of any unforeseendanger, or inform them of a deviation from the assumed plans of thequarry; but there had been no change. The train had moved as thoughordered by Geronimo.

Manuel slept and dreamed of a soft-eyed senorita in Hermosillo.Geronimo moved and the sand fell from his painted naked body as herose noiselessly to his feet. Eight other grim figures arose fromscattered beds of sand. At a sign from Geronimo they crept forwardto surround the train.

The mules commenced to move restlessly. One of them snorted as abrave approached it. Geronimo held his lance above his head; fromnine throats issued the blood-curdling war whoop of the Apaches.Manuel awoke and scrambled from beneath the wagon, fumbling withhis rifle. A young Indian leaped toward him and as the Mexicanraised his weapon an arrow from the bow of Shoz-Dijiji, the BlackBear, transfixed his heart.

In old Hermosillo tears would come to the soft eyes of asenorita. Far to the north, near the headwaters of the Gila, thefire of savage pride would burn in the big, dark eyes ofIsh-kay-nay when she heard of the valor of her playfellow.

The Mexicans, utterly surprised, had no chance. Confused,startled, seeing Indians in front of them they backed from beneaththe wagons only to receive lances and arrows in their backs fromthe Indians darting in and out between the wagons of the train.Curses and screams, mingled with the savage cries of the Apaches,added to the bewilderment of the freighters who had not died withthe first volley. There were but nine Apaches, yet to the handfulof men who survived the first onslaught there seemed to be Indianseverywhere, so quickly did the savage warriors move from point topoint, driving home a lance here, speeding an arrow there, orgrappling hand-to-hand as they plunged their knives into the bodiesof the foe.

The captain of the train, bleeding, staggered to his feet frombeneath the wagon in the shade of which he had been sleeping. As hearose he saw a huge buck leaping toward him with bloody knifeupraised. Clubbing his rifle the Mexican swung the stock down uponthe warrior's head and as the Indian collapsed at his feet hewhipped his six-shooter from its holster and stood at bay.

A few yards from him a stalwart Apache was on the point ofdriving his lance through the chest of Jesus Garcia who had foughtApaches and Yaquis all his life and knew that there was not anIndian within three hundred miles. The captain raised his weaponand leveled it full at the back of the Indian. Thus close wasGeronimo to death; and then a young Apache hurled himself violentlyupon the captain of the train and the two went down together. Itwas Shoz-Dijiji who had intervened to save the war chief's life.Two warriors saw the act—one of them was Juh.

Rolling upon the ground the white man and the Indian ladstruggled; the one to use his firearm, the other to prevent thatand to drive his knife home. Shoz-Dijiji was strong for his age,but he was no match for the Mexican except in agility; but he hadone advantage in a hand-to-hand struggle that the Mexican did notpossess—he was naked and his body was slippery withgrease.

Shoz-Dijiji clung to the pistol wrist of his antagonist, whilethe other grasped the boy's forearm in an effort to prevent himfrom driving his knife home. Rolling over and over the Mexicanfinally succeeded in getting on top of the Apache. Slowly he forcedhis weapon toward the boy's head.

Shoz-Dijiji, struggling but making no outcry, thought that hishour had struck; yet he did not relax his efforts, rather heredoubled them to wrench free his knife hand. He saw the finger ofthe Mexican pressing upon the trigger of the six-shooter as themuzzle of the weapon drew gradually in line with his forehead; thenhe gave a final terrific tug at the arm of his enemy just as thelatter fired.

The report deafened Shoz-Dijiji, the powder burned his brow; butat the same instant he wrenched his wrist free from the slippingclutch of the Mexican and drove his blade home between the other'sshoulders. The man uttered a hoarse scream and fired again; but theshock and the pain of the wound rendered this shot but the resultof the spasmodic clutching of his fingers and the bullet went intothe ground beside Shoz-Dijiji's head.

Again and again the quick knife of the Be-don-ko-he was plungedhome. The body of the Mexican writhed, his agonized eyes glareddown from his contorted face upon the savage beneath him, hestruggled once again to level his weapon and then he slumpedforward upon Shoz-Dijiji.

The youth wriggled from beneath the dead body of his adversary,leaped to his feet and looked about him. The battle was over; itsgrim aftermath was being enacted. A few of the Mexicans, lessfortunate than their companions, still lived. Upon these Geronimo,Juh and their fellows wrought hideously. Gripped, seemingly, by acold, calculating frenzy of ferocity, that in another day and amonga more enlightened race would have passed for religious zeal, theyinflicted unspeakable torture upon the dying and namelessindignities upon the dead that would have filled with envy the highminded Christian inquisitors of the sixteenth century.

Shoz-Dijiji searching for loot upon the dead was conscious ofthe orgy of blood about him, but if it aroused any marked emotionwithin him his face did not reflect it. As he removed a cartridgebelt from a Mexican the man moved and opened his eyes. The Apacheshoved the sharpened quartz of his lance through the man's heartand resumed his search for plunder. He did not torture; he did notmutilate; but he was not deterred therefrom through any sense ofcompassion. He felt none. These were the enemies of his people.

They would have slain him had they had the opportunity. It wasonly fear or caution that prevented them and their kind fromhunting down him and his kind and exterminating them; and it wasthrough torture and mutilation that the Apache kept green in thehearts of his enemies both fear and caution. To most of them it wasmerely a well-reasoned component of their science of war, which is,after all, but saying that it was a part of their religion. ToGeronimo it was something more.

VI. — THE OATH OF GERONIMO

AROUSED by the shouts, the shots and the scent ofthe savages, the mules had, during the battle, staged adivertissement of their own. Some had kicked themselves free ofrestraining leather while others had but entangled themselves themore. Many were down.

Their taste for blood temporarily glutted, or for lack of moreblood to spill, the Apaches turned their attention to the mules.While some cut loose those that were down, others rounded up thosethat were loose. In the meantime Geronimo and Juh had inspected thecontents of the wagons which contained a general store ofmerchandise consigned to many a small merchant in the villages ofnorthern Sonora.

Selecting what met their fancy or the requirements of theirwild, nomadic life, they packed their spoils of war upon the backsof the captured mules and set out in a northeasterly directiontoward the Sierra Madre. All that afternoon and all of thefollowing night they pushed rapidly on until they emerged upon theeastern slopes of the Sierra Madre and looked down upon Chihuahua.Not until then did Geronimo order camp and a rest. A hundred milesbehind them the ashes of the burned wagon train still smoldered.Ten miles in his rear a single scout watched the rear trail from acommanding peak and far ahead another scout overlookedChihuahua.

Around the camp fire that day, while the mules browsed the lushgrasses of a mountain meadow, the warriors recounted boastfullytheir deeds of derring-do.

Geronimo, sullen and morose, sat apart. Shoz-Dijiji, the campduties of the neophyte completed, lay stretched in rest beside hissavage sire. Geronimo, puffing at a cigarette, looked down at theboy.

"Shoz-Dijiji has done well," he said. These were the first wordsof approval that had fallen upon the youth's ears since he hadtaken the war trail. He remained silent. Geronimo puffed upon hiscigarette before he spoke again. "Juh says that Shoz-Dijiji has aheart of water; that he did not join the other braves in torturingthe wounded or mutilating the dead."

"Shoz-Dijiji killed three of the enemy," replied the youth; "onein a hand-to-hand fight. The coyote attacks the wounded and devoursthe dead. Which is braver?"

"You are a brave man," replied Shoz-Dijiji simply. "There is noone braver than Geronimo. Therefore I cannot understand why youwaste your time with the dead and the wounded. These, I shouldthink, you would leave to the squaws and the children. I,Shoz-Dijiji, take no pleasure in fighting with a dead man whocannot harm me. I should not think that Geronimo, who is so muchbraver than Shoz-Dijiji, would find pleasure in it."

"Listen, my son, to the words of Geronimo," said the war chief."But seventeen times had the rains fallen upon me when I wasadmitted to the warrior class. Then I was a Ned-ni, as my fathersbefore me had been; but I loved Alope, the slender daughter ofNo-po-so of the Be-don-ko-he and she loved me. I gave No-po-so themany ponies that he had asked for Alope and took her with me. Thenit was that I was adopted into the tribe of my good wife. I becamea Be-don-ko-he.

"Three children came to us in the twelve years that followed andwe were happy. There was peace between us and the tribes that wereour neighbors. We were at peace with the Mexican towns in Chihuahuaand Sonora.

"Happy, carefree, contented, the Be-don-ko-he, with all theirwomen and their children, went down through Sonora toward CasaGrande to trade, but before we reached our destination we stoppedat the Mexican village which we called Kas-ki-yeh, making our campjust outside the town.

"I had brought my mother with me, as well as Alope and our threechildren. With the other women and children they remained in campunder the protection of a few warriors while the balance of thebraves went daily into the town to trade.

"Thus we had been living in peace and fancied security forseveral days when one evening as we were returning to camp we weremet by several of our women and children. Their burning eyesreflected the sorrow and righteous anger that blazed within theirbreasts as they told us that during our absence Mexican troops hadattacked our camp, slain the warriors that had been left to guardit, run off our ponies, burned our supplies, stolen our weapons andmurdered many of our women and children.

"Mangas Colorado, chief of the Ned-ni, who was with us with afew of his people, was the ranking war chief and to him we turnednow, for this was war. He told us to separate and hide untildarkness had fallen, and this we did, assembling again in a thicketby the river. Then it was, when all had come, that I discovered forthe first time that my aged mother, my young wife, my three smallchildren were among the slain.

"Without ponies, without weapons, our force reduced, surroundedby the enemy and far within his country, we were in no position togive battle. In silence and in darkness, therefore, we took up thelong trail toward our own country, leaving our dead upon thefield.

"Stunned by the sorrow that had overwhelmed me I followed behindthe retreating tribe, just within hearing distance of the softfootfalls of moccasined feet. For two days and nights of forcedmarching I did not eat, I did not speak, and no one spoke tome—there was nothing to say.

"At last we arrived at our own kunh-gan-hay. There was the tepeethat I had made for Alope, a tepee of buffalo hides. There were thebear robes, the lion skins, the other trophies of the chase that Ihad placed there for her. There were the little decorations ofbeads and drawn work on buckskin made by Alope's own slenderfingers. There were the many pictures that she had drawn upon thewalls of our home, and there were the playthings of our littleones.

"I burned them all. Also I burned my mother's tepee anddestroyed all her property. It was then I took an oath to berevenged upon the Mexicans, to kill them wherever I found them, togive them no quarter and to show them no mercy.

"My mother, Alope, our three children have been avenged manytimes over, but the end is not yet. Now, perhaps, Shoz-Dijiji toowill see the same pictures of the mind that Geronimo sees when thewar trail crosses the path of the Mexicans—an old woman and ayoung woman lying in their blood, three little children huddledtogether in terror before the bullets or the gun butts of theMexican soldiers stilled their sobs forever."

The wrinkled war chief arose and walked silently away. Insilence Shoz-Dijiji sat—in silence and in thought.

And all during the long, arduous marches that followed hethought upon what Geronimo had told him until he too came to hatethe enemies of his people with a bitterness that was but to beincreased with each closer association with them, whether in war orin peace; but Shoz-Dijiji discriminated less between Mexicans andAmericans than did Geronimo, for he knew that upon the whole theformer had sinned against them less than the latter.

Always watching for attack from in front, for pursuit from therear, the Apaches drove the laden mules northward toward home,keeping as much to inaccessible mountains as the limitations of themules permitted; passing the few habitations that lay in their waysilently by night, with the single exception of an isolated Mexicanranch not far from the border. This they attacked by day, slayingits owner, his wife and children.

Again Shoz-Dijiji and Gian-nah-tah conducted themselves well,thus having two engagements to their credit of the four necessarybefore they could be accepted into the warrior class; but againShoz-Dijiji abstained from torture or mutilation, though he watchedJuh, the butcher, with interest, if nothing more.

The meager loot from the pitiful Mexican home they loaded upon aspare mule, set fire to the interior of the adobe house andcontinued their way, leaving the wounded but conscious Mexicanstaked out upon a bed of cactus within sight of the mutilatedremains of his family, to die of thirst.

As they passed on toward the farther hills Shoz-Dijiji saw acoyote giving them a wide berth as it slunk down toward theranch.

That night they crossed the border into New Mexico and camped intimbered mountains by a running spring. Here they killed a mule andfeasted, for at last they felt reasonably safe from pursuit.

A few days later they came to their home camp and that night therewas dancing and feasting in honor of the victorious warriors and agreat deal of boastful recounting of valorous deeds and displayingof loot. Another mule was killed and cooked and presents were givento each member of the tribe. It was a memorable night. Tomorrow thework of the squaws would commence, for all the remaining mules mustbe killed, their meat jerked, their hides cured and the meat packedaway in them for future use.

Little Ish-kay-nay, cross-legged upon the ground, tore at alarge piece of mule meat with her strong, white teeth. A lock ofglossy black hair fell across her face and tickled her nose. Shepushed it back with a greasy hand.

But if her teeth were occupied with the feast her eyes werenot—they followed the figure of a handsome youth who movedabout with the swagger of a warrior, though it was noticeable thathe kept out of the paths of the warriors, swaggering most where thesquaws and the children might see.

Closer and closer to Ish-kay-nay his wanderings led him, yet heseemed quite unconscious of her presence, until presently, withouta word, he came and squatted at her side. He did not speak.Ish-kay-nay did not speak. Perhaps each wondered at the change thathad come over their relations. When the youth had gone away a fewweeks before they had been playfellows. There had never beenreserve between them. Ish-kay-nay had seemed like another boy toShoz-Dijiji.

Now she seemed different. It seemed to Shoz-Dijiji that he wasalmost afraid of her. To Ish-kay-nay there seemed a difference,too, but, being a woman, she was less mystified than Shoz-Dijijiand she was not afraid. She must only appear to be afraid.

Presently, timorously apparently, she extended her piece of mulemeat toward him and with his teeth he tore off a mouthful. Enjoinedfrom speech by necessity they sat there, side by side, chewing uponthe tough and fibrous flesh.

Ish-kay-nay looked up from beneath her tousled shock, caught hiseye and smiled. Then she looked down quickly and giggled.Shoz-Dijiji grinned and leaned a little closer until his nakedshoulder touched hers. Again Ish-kay-nay looked up to smile, anddown to giggle, shrugging her shapely shoulders.

Laboriously the youth untied a soiled bundle that he had carriedfor many days fastened to his loin cloth. It was wrapped in a bitof the tail of a cotton shirt that Manuel, the freighter, hadbought in Guaymas.

A vile odor pervaded it, an odor that waxed in insolence andinsistence as Shoz-Dijiji, with exaggerated deliberation, slowlyunwrapped the package, while Ish-kay-nay, now leaning quitebrazenly against him, watched with increasing interest. Neitherappeared to note the odor which arose like material matter as theyouth threw aside the last fold of cloth and held up to the girl'sadmiring gaze three putrid scalps.

"I, Shoz-Dijiji, have slain the enemies of my people," he said."Upon the war trail with the warriors of my tribe I have slain themand here is the proof."

"Shoz-Dijiji will soon be a great warrior," whisperedIsh-kay-nay, snuggling closer.

The boy opened the buckskin bag in which he kept his treasures.From it he drew a silver crucifix and a rosary. "Take these,Ish-kay-nay," he said. "Shoz-Dijiji took them in battle forIsh-kay-nay."

The eyes of the little savage maiden were wells of gratitude andpride, and as Shoz-Dijiji slipped an arm about her she looked upinto his face and pressed closer to him. Now she did not giggle,for the light of a great understanding had suddenly flooded theconsciousness of Ish-kay-nay.

For some time they sat there in silence, oblivious of the yellsof the dancers, the beating of the es-a-da-ded, wrapped in thedawning realization of the wonder that had come into their lives.It was Shoz-Dijiji who first spoke.

"Twice again must Shoz-Dijiji take the war trail with the bravesof his tribe before he can become a warrior," continued the youth."Not until then may he tie his pony before the tepee ofIsh-kay-nay, to await her answer to his suit. Ish-kay-nay isbeautiful. Many warriors will desire her. Already has Shoz-Dijijiseen them looking at her. Will Ish-kay-nay wait forShoz-Dijiji?"

"Until Chigo-na-ay gives forth no heat and the waters cease torun Ish-kay-nay will wait," whispered the girl.

DURING the month that followed the tribe travelled to a small saltlake that lies in the Gila Mountains, and there replenished itssupply of salt. There were Navajos there, too, and a small band ofPimos, but there was no fighting, for such is the unwritten law ofthe Indians who have come hither for ages after their salt.

Even the birds and the beasts are safe here, for no creature maybe killed upon its sacred shore. Here the gossip of the wildcountry passed from mouth to mouth, the braves traded or gambled,the squaws recovered the salt, and when the supply was garneredeach tribe took up its separate way in safety back to its owncountry.

Shortly after they reached home the father of Ish-kay-nay, beinga man of importance and considerable means, sent runners to theApache tribes living nearest them, inviting all to a great danceand feast in honor of the coming of his daughter into the fullbloom of womanhood, for Ish-kay-nay was fourteen and no longer achild.

For days the preparations went forward. The young bucks grinnedand giggled at Ish-kay-nay, who tittered and hid her eyes behindher hand. And Shoz-Dijiji laughed in his blanket.

The roasted mescal had been mixed with water and allowed toferment. Other pulpy sections of the maguey were being steamed inrock-lined pits, the stones in which had first been superheatedwith leaping, crackling greasewood fires before a layer of magueywas laid upon them and covered with wet leaves and grasses, uponwhich was laid a second layer of maguey, another layer of leavesand grasses, thus alternating until the pit was filled and thewhole covered tightly over with earth from which protruded severalof the long bayonet spikes of the mescal, the lower ends of whichwere embedded in the roasting pulp.

For three days had the maguey been cooking. The tribes weregathered. The fermented mescal was ready and, lest theirhospitality be impeached, Ish-kay-nay's mother had brewed an amplesupply of tizwin against the needs of the occasion. The Yuma slavewoman cooked tortillas by a fire of her own making. There werejerked venison, lion, bear and beef; fresh turkey, grouse and mule;there were cakes of the meal of ground mesquite beans; there wasthe sun-dried fruit of the Spanish bayonet.

During the afternoon the squaws were engaged in the finalpreparations for the feast; the braves, with mirror and pigment,were making themselves gorgeous for the ensuing nights of dancing,feasting and celebration, or, the painting done, arrayingthemselves in their finest buckskin, beaded, and silver orturquoise hung; placing necklaces, often to the number of a dozen,about their savage necks; adjusting earrings of silver orturquoise.

Little Ish-kay-nay was being prepared, too. She had donned a newand elaborately beaded robe of buckskin, the skirt of which wasfringed with tiny silver bells, as were the sides of her highmoccasins; and she was hung heavy with barbaric necklaces, some ofwhich merely encircled her throat, while others fell below herwaist.

Much of her wealth of silver and turquoise was hidden by thelong, heavy fringe that fell from the edges of her voluminoussleeves and, encircling her skirt above her knees, swept the groundabout her richly beaded moccasins; but there was enough in evidenceto fix the wealth and social status of her sire.

Lengthening shadows heralded the coming of the guests. By onesand twos and threes they came, Chi-hen-ne, White Mountain,Chi-e-a-hen, Cho-kon-en and Ned-ni, to the camp of theBe-don-ko-he, to celebrate the coming of Ish-kay-nay, the bud, intothe full flower of womanhood. A full September moon shone down uponthem as they gathered about the open space from which the grass hadbeen cut for the dancing. The potent mescal and tizwin was passedfreely among them.

In nearby tepees the braves who were to start the dance put thelast touches to their toilets. In a great lodge at one side of thedance ground the chief men of the six tribes assembled and theretoo sat Ish-kay-nay, looking very small; but, being Ish-kay-nay,neither overawed nor fearful. With poise and dignity she sat amongthe great, but doubtless in her elfin heart she was laughing atsome of the grim old chieftains, as youth, the world over, is proneto laugh at age.

The squaws had drawn the bayonet stalks from the roasting magueyand sampling the lower ends had found them cooked to a nicety. Nowthey were uncovering the feast. A fire was burning in the center ofthe space reserved for the dancing, and at one side a dried hidehad been laid upon the ground. About this sat several old warriorsarmed with long, tough sticks. Gently they began beating upon thesurface of the bull hide. Just behind them two other old warriorssmote es-a-da-deds. Ish-kay-nay's father began to sing in time tothe beating of the crude drums, his voice rising and fallingmonotonously as he chanted of the beauty of Ish-kay-nay, of herdocility, of her strength, of her many accomplishments. Graduallythe guests joined in, chanting in unison with him a wordless chantthat drowned out the balance of the list of Ish-kay-nay'sattractions.

Suddenly there burst from the tepees at the head of the danceground a series of blood-curdling whoops and yells. The beating ofthe drums increased in tempo and volume until the sound rolledforth in thunderous waves. From several tepees young men sprang,leaping high in air, turning, twisting, bending, whooping. Onto thedance ground they rushed, circling the central fire—weird,grotesque, barbaric figures disguised beneath the heads and skinsof bear and deer and buffalo and lion.

Four times about the fire they danced when other warriors armedwith lances, bows and arrows sprang upon the dance ground andcircling the other dancers threatened them with their weapons.Unintimidated the beasts danced on until at last the hunters threwdown their weapons.

At this signal the young women of the tribes joined in thedance. As the first of them ran upon the field the young bucks gavevoice to a wild yell that rolled out across the still Arizona nightto reverberate and echo in the gloomy canyons and gorges of themoon-mysteried mountains that hemmed them about. They crouched,they leaped, they shook their shoulders and their hips as theyformed a circle about the fire, facing outward, as the girls tooktheir places in an outer circle, each girl opposite and facing awarrior.

The drums boomed, the dancers bent double, whirled about firstupon one foot and then upon the other. The men advanced, the girlsretreated to the outer edge of the dance ground. Among them,grotesque, painted, decked out in the finery of their most gorgeousmedicine headdress, their finest izze-kloths, whirling theirtzi-ditindes, the izze-nantans whirled and leaped and danced,sprinkling the sacred hoddentin upon the youths and maidens.

Nakay-do-klunni was there with Nan-ta-do-tash and many anotherfamous medicine man of the six tribes of the Apaches, speakingvolumes for the wealth and power of the father of littleIsh-kay-nay. Now the men retreated, backing toward the fire, andthe girls advanced, and thus, forward and back, they danced forhours, chanting the sacred songs of their people, doing honor toIsh-kay-nay.

And all the time the girl remained in the great lodge, taking nopart in the festivities and catching but an occasional glimpse ofwhat was going on without. At the end of the fourth night the foodwas gone, the mescal and the tizwin had been consumed, the dancerswere exhausted and the six tribes repaired to their several campsto sleep off the effects of their prolonged orgy. On the followingday Ish-kay-nay's eyebrows were carefully plucked—the lastofficial symbol of her emergence from childhood to the marriagemarket. A month later her eye lashes would be pulled out.

Shoz-Dijiji was not happy. He had had no part in thefestivities, other than a free hand at the food, and he had triedto smoke—with dire results. This he might have done longbefore, having killed big game and won the right to smoke like agrown man; but he had not cared to until recently. SeeingIsh-kay-nay stepping suddenly from childhood to womanhood hadawakened within him, or rather had stimulated within him an alreadyoverwhelming desire to appear mature.

From the tepee of Geronimo he had taken a few leaves of tobaccoand these he rolled in the dried leaf of an oak. With an ember froma camp fire he lighted his primitive cigarette, and for severalminutes he derived great satisfaction from parading nonchalantlyabout, puffing clouds of smoke to the moon; but shortly he crawledaway out of sight and lay down behind a bush. For a while he wasquite helpless, but presently he was able to unwrap his tzi-daltai,and to it he prayed that the bad spirit that had entered hisstomach with the smoke be driven out. He prayed for a long time,until he fell asleep; and when he awoke he knew that his medicinewas strong medicine, for the sickness was gone, leaving him only alittle weak and a bit wobbly upon his feet.

Perhaps the sickness helped to make Shoz-Dijiji unhappy, butthere were other causes, too. One of them was the attitude of theyoung warriors toward Ish-kay-nay, and that of some of the oldwarriors, as well. Never before had Shoz-Dijiji realized howwonderful and how desirable was Ish-kay-nay, and he saw that otheryouths and men thought that she was desirable. Once, shortly afterthe great feast, he saw ten ponies tied before her tepee, and amongthem was the war pony of Juh, the chief of the Ned-ni.

For four days he watched them standing there, as their ownerswatched them; but Ish-kay-nay did not come forth and feed any oneof them or lead one to water, and at the end of the fourth day,disgruntled, the disappointed swains came and took away theirponies. After that Shoz-Dijiji was happier and when it was dark,that very night, he found Ish-kay-nay and sat down beside her andheld her hand and heard her say over again that she would wait forhim—forever.

VII. — RAIDED

ONE day as Shoz-Dijiji squatted beside Geronimolistening to the great chief's tales of the war trail a runner cameand stopped before them.

"Geronimo," he said, "I am sent by the officers of the whitesoldiers. They want you to come to their camp. They have sent arunner to Victorio also, and he is coming."

"What do the chiefs of the white soldiers want of Geronimo andVictorio?" demanded the chief.

"Tell them Geronimo will come," said the chief, and the scoutturned and trotted away, disappearing among the trees below thecamp.

Geronimo smiled and grunted an affirmative and the lad was goneafter the two ponies. When he returned Geronimo was ready andtogether they rode down the mountainside in the direction of thelittle town near which the soldiers were camped.

Early the following morning they saw a small band of Indiansmoving in the same direction as were they, and evidently toward thecamp of the white soldiers which lay beside the village of HotSprings which they could already see in the distance.

Shoz-Dijiji nodded. However the two approached the other party,as their trails converged, with careful wariness, and it was notuntil they had actually recognized individual members of the bandand been recognized in turn that they finally joined them.

The two chiefs rode together, exchanging occasionalmonosyllables, but for the greater part of the time in silence.Shoz-Dijiji took the station befitting a youth among warriors androde in the rear and the dust. At the edge of town the party wasmet by soldiers, two companies of scouts, and before Geronimo orVictorio could realize their intentions the party was surrounded,disarmed and arrested. Surprised, chagrined and angry the Apacheswere conducted to military headquarters, and for the first timeShoz-Dijiji came into close contact with the pindah lickoyee.

Closely surrounded by armed soldiers the Apaches were herdedinto a tent where several officers were seated behind two camptables. Ignoring his guards Geronimo strode forward and faced theofficers across the tables.

"Why have the soldiers done this to Geronimo and his friends?"he demanded. "You sent for Geronimo as a friend and he came as afriend. Is this the way to treat a friend?"

The senior officer turned to a Mexican standing near him. "Whatdoes he say?" he demanded.

The Mexican, in turn, addressed a half-breed squatting at hisside. "What does he say?" he asked in Spanish. The half-breedtranslated Geronimo's words into Spanish and the Mexican translatedthem into English for the senior officer.

"Tell him it is because he left Apache Pass without permission,"replied the officer. "Ask him why he did this," and again theMexican translated the officer's words into Spanish and thehalf-breed translated them from Spanish to Apache. Thus the entireproceedings were carried out. Perhaps the translations wereaccurate—perhaps not. At any rate the principals in thematter did not know.

Geronimo mused over the question before he replied. Then headdressed himself directly to the senior officer, ignoring theinterpreters. "I do not think that I ever belonged to thosesoldiers at Apache Pass," he said, "or that I should have askedthem where I might go. This is my country. I have lived here all mylife. It is the country that Usen gave to the Apaches when hecreated them. It has always belonged to us. Why should we ask thesoldiers of the white-eyes for permission to go from one part ofour own country to another part?

"We have tried to live in peace with the white-eyes. We eventried to stay at Apache Pass when they asked us to do so; but thewhite-eyes do not know the ways of the Apaches as do the chiefs ofthe Apaches. They did not know what they asked. The six tribes ofthe Apaches cannot all live together in peace. The young menquarrel. This we knew would happen, yet we tried to live togetherbecause we were told that it was the wish of the Great WhiteChief.

"Some of the young men got drunk on whiskey that was sold tothem by a white-eyed man. They fought and some were killed. We, whoare the chiefs of our people, we, who are responsible for theirwelfare and happiness, held a council and there we all agreed thatthe tribes could no longer live in peace together.

"The Chi-hen-ne and Be-don-ko-he have always been friendly andso Victorio and I quietly withdrew together with our people. We didnot think this was wrong. Our hearts were not wrong. That is all.Geronimo has spoken. Now let us return to our homes."

The officer questioned Victorio and several other Indians. Heasked about each one present and Shoz-Dijiji heard himselfmentioned, heard the half-breed say that he was but a youth and notyet a warrior, for Shoz-Dijiji understood some Spanish. Now herealized that it would be advantageous to understand the languageof the pindah lickoyee as well.

The proceedings did not last long. The officers issued someorders to the soldiers and the Apaches were herded from the tent.Geronimo and seven other Apaches were taken to the guardhouse andplaced in chains. Victorio and the others, including Shoz-Dijiji,were released; but the youth did not wish to leave his father. Withthat mixture of timidity and courage which often marks the actionsof creatures of the wild in the presence of white men, Shoz-Dijiji,keeping at a distance, followed Geronimo to the guardhouse.

He saw the Indians disappear within, he saw the door closed. Hewondered what they were going to do with his father and hisfriends, these white-eyed men whose actions he could no moreunderstand than he could their language. He crept to a window andlooked in. His pupils dilated with horror at the thing he saw; theywere placing great chains upon Geronimo, upon the chief of theBe-don-ko-he, upon the war chief of all the Apaches, and fasteninghim to the wall like a wild beast.

Shoz-Dijiji shuddered. The humiliation of it! And the hideousinjustice. Savage that he was, Shoz-Dijiji sensed keenly and feltacutely the injustice, for he knew that Geronimo did not know whyhe was being punished. He knew that the soldiers had said that itwas because he had left Apache Pass, but to Shoz-Dijiji as well asto Geronimo, that was worse than no reason at all since they bothknew that it had been the right thing to do.

Shoz-Dijiji, through the window, heard Geronimo ask the soldierswhy he was being chained in the guardhouse; but they did notunderstand him. One, who was quite a joker, mimicked the old warchief, making the other soldiers laugh, thus demonstrating beyondcavil the natural superiority of the white race over theseuntutored children of the wild who sat now in majestic silence,their immobile faces giving no hint of the thoughts that passedwithin their savage brains, or the sorrows within their hearts.

Doubtless, had their positions been reversed, the Apaches wouldhave tortured the soldiers; but it is a question as to whether theycould have inflicted upon the white men any suffering more real,more terrible, than are imprisonment and ridicule to an Indian.

As Shoz-Dijiji watched through the guardhouse window, his wholebeing was so occupied by the numbing terror of what he saw withinthat he did not hear the approach of a white soldier from his rear,nor was he conscious of any other presence about him until a heavyhand was laid upon his shoulder and he was wheeled roughlyabout.

"What the hell are you doing here, you dirty Siwash?" demandedthe trooper, and at the same time he gave Shoz-Dijiji a shove thatsent him sprawling in the dust.

Shoz-Dijiji did not understand the white man's words. He did notunderstand why he had been attacked. All he knew was that, hisheart filled with sorrow, he had been watching the humiliation ofhis father; but as he arose slowly from the dust he becameconscious of a new force within him that crowded sorrow into thebackground—a deep, implacable hatred of the pindah lickoyee.Through level eyes, his face an imperturbable mask, he looked atthe white soldier and saw that he was heavily armed. About theguardhouse were other armed soldiers. Shoz-Dijiji turned and walkedaway. Apache-like he bided his time.

In the camp of his people Shoz-Dijiji took up again his accustomedlife, but he was not the same. The last vestige of youth had fallenfrom him. Quiet, serious, even morose he was, and more and moreoften did he spend nights and days upon end in the high places,praying and making big medicine, that he might be strong againstthe enemies of his people.

He talked with Gian-nah-tah about the wrongs that the pindahlickoyee would inflict upon the Shis-Inday. He visited Victorio andtalked much with that savage, terrible old warrior, for Shoz-Dijijiwanted to know "why." No one seemed to be able to enlighten him.Usen had made this country for the Apaches, of that they were allquite sure; but why Usen had sent the white-eyes, no one could tellhim. Victorio thought that Usen had nothing to do with it; but thatsome bad spirits who hated Usen were really responsible.

"The bad spirits have sent the white-eyed men to kill theApaches," he explained, "so that Usen will have no one to guardhim. Then they will be able to kill Usen."

Shoz-Dijiji knew that they did. He knew that when he washunting, deep in his own country, he had ever to keep an alert eyeopen for wandering white men—hunters, prospectors, cowboys,soldiers—scarce one of whom but would shoot him first andinquire into his friendliness afterward, if at all.

In primitive places news travels with a celerity little short ofmiraculous. Thus it was that the day that Geronimo was transferredto the guardhouse at San Carlos the fact was known to theBe-don-ko-he in their hidden camp, deep in inaccessible mountains.Shoz-Dijiji spoke to Morning Star, wife of Geronimo, the onlymother he had ever known.

"Sons-ee-ah-ray," he said, "I, Shoz-Dijiji, go to be near myfather, Geronimo. The hearts of the pindah lickoyee are bad.Perhaps they have taken him away to kill him."

"Go!" said Morning Star. "If the pindah lickoyee harm Geronimoreturn quickly and bring the word. Then, if the hearts of theApache braves have not turned to water, they will go upon the wartrail and drive the white-eyed men from the land of the Shis-Indayforever. If they do not, then the squaws will spit upon them andtake their weapons from them and go upon the war trail in theirplaces."

So Shoz-Dijiji set out alone and afoot for the fort at SanCarlos. Deep in his heart was a purpose that he had not confided toMorning Star or to any other, not even to Ish-kay-nay when he hadbid her farewell. In the high places Shoz-Dijiji had had muchopportunity for thought and for reflection, and more and moreduring those solitary hours among the silent rocks and themurmuring pines there had been borne into his consciousness arealization of the fact that he had first vaguely comprehended atthe trial of Geronimo at Hot Springs, that his people werehandicapped in their struggle against the white-eyed oppressor bytheir inability to understand his language.

Shoz-Dijiji had recalled the night that he had lain close besidethe parked wagon train of the Mexican freighters and overheardtheir plans for the ensuing days, and because he knew theirlanguage it had been possible for his people to profit by what heheard. How great might be his advantage upon similar occasions inthe conflict with the whites, if he understood their tongue, hethoroughly realized. Imbued with this thought as well as a desireto be near his father and learn more of what the whites intendedfor Geronimo, the youth made his lonely way toward San Carlos.

With a handful of parched corn, a few strips of jerked venisonand a primitive water bottle of horse gut, he trotted silentlyalong his untracked way. Always alert for signs of the enemy, nosound escaped his trained ears; no broken twig, no down-pressedbunch of grass, no turned stone escaped his watchful eyes; and allthat he saw he read as quickly and as accurately as we read theprinted page; but with this difference, possibly—Shoz-Dijijiunderstood what he read.

Here he saw where klij-litzogue, the yellow snake, had passedthrough the dust of the way an hour before; there was the spoor ofshoz-lickoyee; and in the bottom of a parched canyon he saw signsof the pindah lickoyee. Two days before a white man had ridden downthis canyon toward the plain upon the back of a mare with a whiteright hind foot and a black tail. All this Shoz-Dijiji read quicklyfrom a spoor so faint that you or I would not have noticed it atall. But then, it was Shoz-Dijiji's business to know, as it is ourbusiness to know that if we ignore certain traffic signals at acrowded corner we may land in the receiving hospital.

On the second day Shoz-Dijiji crept to the summit of a low divideand looked down upon the frontier post of San Carlos, upon thestraw-thatched buildings of adobe brick, upon the winding Gila andupon the straggling villages of the reservation Indians, and thatnight he slipped silently down among the shadows and merged withhis people. There were many tribes there, but among them wereApaches whom Shoz-Dijiji knew, and these he sought, seeking word ofGeronimo first. They told him that the chief was still chained in aguardhouse, but that he was well. What the white-eyes intendeddoing with him they did not know.

Shoz-Dijiji asked many questions and learned many things thatnight. With the braves he laughed at the white fools who fed theApaches between raids while the blood of other white men was scarcedry upon them, and, who, while feeding them, sought to cheat themout of the bulk of the rations the Great White Chief had sent them;thus increasing their contempt for the whites, arousing their angeragainst them, and spurring them on to further outbreaks.

"Our women and our children are hungry," complained an oldwarrior, "and yet they will neither give us passes to go out on thehunting trail or issue us sufficient rations to sustain us. We seethe agent growing rich and fat upon the money that should buy usbeef. We see our war chief and our friends chained in prison. Tomake us content they wish to give us shovels and hoes and make usdo the work of squaws. They wish us to go to school and learn thestrange language of the white-eyes.

"We are men, we are warriors; it is not fit that men andwarriors should do these things. It is our land, not theirs. Usengave it to us and he gave the white-eyes other lands. Why do theynot stay in the land that Usen gave them, as we have? We do notwant them here."

Shoz-Dijiji heard a great deal of such talk, for the Indians,discontented, aired their grievances freely among themselves. Theytalked of little else, and the young bucks spoke continually ofwar. These matters did not, however, greatly excite Shoz-Dijiji. Heknew that when the time came there would be war. There always was.What interested him more was the statement of the old warrior thatthe white-eyed men wished his people to learn their language. Hespoke often upon this subject, asking many questions.

"You wish to learn the language of the pindah lickoyee?"demanded a scarred warrior who talked the loudest and the longestabout war.

"That is labor," sneered the warrior. "The men of the Apaches donot labor. You should have been a squaw."

"The men of the Apaches make their own weapons wherewith tofight the enemies of their people, do they not?" inquiredShoz-Dijiji.

"The language of the white-eyes can be turned into a weaponagainst them if we understand it," said the youth. "Now they use itagainst us. That I saw at Hot Springs when Geronimo and the otherwarriors were made prisoners. It was all done with the talk of thewhite-eyes; no other weapon did they use. Had I known how to usethat weapon—had Geronimo, or any other of us known—wemight have defeated them, for we had the right upon our side."

"Shoz-Dijiji makes good talk," said an old man. "At the postthey have a school where they wish us to send our children and tocome ourselves to learn their language. There are but threechildren in this school and they are all orphans. If they had hadparents they would not have been permitted to go. The pindahlickoyee will be glad to have you come."

And so it was that Black Bear attended the school of the pindahlickoyee and learned their strange language. He stayed and workedin the school after the class was dismissed that he might askquestions of the teacher and learn more rapidly. His teacher, thewife of an officer, pointed to him with pride and told her friendsthat the example set by Black Bear would probably do more towardpacifying and civilizing the Apaches than all the soldiers in theUnited States Army could accomplish.

"If they understand us they will learn to respect and love us,"she said; "and they cannot understand us until they understand ourlanguage."

And to his people Shoz-Dijiji said: "The pindah lickoyee arefools and their tongue is the tongue of fools; but it is well toknow it. Already I have learned things about them that otherwise Icould never have known, and when I take the war trail against themas a man there will be no arrow in my quiver with which I caninflict more harm upon them than with this—my knowledge oftheir language."

For three months Shoz-Dijiji attended school regularly, studieddiligently, learned quickly. His teacher was transported intoraptures whenever she had occasion to mention him in the presenceof her friends, and that was often, as the topics of conversationat a frontier army post are meager at the best. Her husband wasskeptical, as were all of the older officers.

Thus understandingly, sympathetically, has the Indian questionbeen approached by many army men, and by practically all of thecivilians of the frontiers. To have said: "He is an Indian. Hestands in the way of our acquisition of his valuable possessions.Therefore, having no power to enforce his rights and being in ourway, we will destroy him," would have been no more ruthless thanthe policy we adopted and cloaked with hypocrisy. It would have hadthe redeeming quality of honesty, and would have been a policy thatthe Apaches could have understood and admired.

One morning Shoz-Dijiji did not come to school. He never cameagain. His teacher made diligent inquiry which always ended againstthe dead wall of an Indian, "No savvy." She did not connect BlackBear's disappearance with the release of Geronimo from theguardhouse the previous afternoon, because she did not know thatBlack Bear was Geronimo's son.

She knew nothing about Black Bear. From her he had learned allthat he sought to learn; from him she had learned nothing; forwhich there is just one good and sufficient reason—Black Bearwas an Apache. Of all the great Indian tribes that have roamedNorth America none has been in contact with white men longer thanthe Apache, and of none is there less known.

Ugly, morose, vengeful, Geronimo came back to his people, andthat same night they slipped away toward the south. Every member ofthe tribe was mounted and their meager belongings, their store ofprovisions, were packed upon the backs of spare ponies.

Shoz-Dijiji was happy. The three months spent at San Carlosunder the petty restrictions of a semi-military regime had seemedan eternity of bondage to his free, wild nature. Now again he couldbreathe, out in the open where there were no fences, no walls, asfar as the eye could reach, and the air was untainted by the odorof white men.

He looked up at the moon-silvered mountains and out across thedim, mysterious distance of the plain. He heard the old, familiarvoices of the night, and her perfumes were sweet in his nostrils.He drank deep of it, filling his lungs. He wanted to leap into theair and dance and shout; but he only sat stolidly astride his pony,his face reflecting nothing of all that filled his heart.

Travelling by night, hiding by day, Geronimo led his people to ahidden valley, deep in the mountains, far from the trails andsettlements of the pindah lickoyee. There they lived in peace andsecurity for a long time, making occasional journeys into Mexico totrade, or to neighboring Indian tribes for the same purpose.

Shoz-Dijiji grew taller, stronger. Few warriors of theBe-don-ko-he could hurl a lance as far as he, and none could sendan arrow with greater accuracy to its goal; he could out-run andout-jump them all, and his horsemanship brought a gleam of pride tothe cruel, blue eyes of Geronimo.

The long period of peace broke down the discipline of the tribeand even astute old Geronimo nodded. An individualist in theextreme sense of the word, an Apache takes orders from no oneexcept as it suits him to do so. Their chiefs are counsellors; theymay not command. Only the war chiefs in time of battle or upon thewar trail are vouchsafed anything approaching absolute authority.It is the ambition of every youth to become a warrior so that hemay do whatever he wishes to do, without let or hindrance.

Thus lived the tribe in the dangerous insecurity and laxity ofpeace. No longer did the keen eyes of scouts watch the trailsleading away into the lands of their enemies. For days at a timethe ponies pastured without a guard.

It was upon such a day, following a successful hunt, that thewarriors were dozing about the camp. Gian-nah-tah and Shoz-Dijiji,tiring of the monotony, had wandered away into the hills. They weremoving quietly along, seeing everything, hearing everything, whenthe son of Geronimo stopped suddenly and raised his hand. Like agolden bronze by a master hand they stood motionless and silent.Faintly from afar came the rolling of distant thunder, scarcelyheard. But Shoz-Dijiji and Gian-nah-tah knew that it was notthunder. Just for an instant they stood there listening and thenboth dropped almost simultaneously to the ground, pressing earsagainst the turf.

Shoz-Dijiji was the first to leap to his feet. "Return to camp,Gian-nah-tah," he said, "and tell Geronimo what we have heard."

"The herd has been stampeded. They are running away fromcamp—south, toward Chihuahua. Only enemies would run it off.Tell Geronimo that the Mexicans have raided us."

Gian-nah-tah wheeled about and raced down the mountainside,while Shoz-Dijiji clambered straight up toward a lofty point thatwould afford him a wide view of the country toward the south. Hisear had told him that the ponies were running wildly; thereforethey must be frightened. Nothing in these hills could so frightenthose ponies as could mounted men urging them rapidly from therear—that Shoz-Dijiji knew. The diminishing volume of thesound had told him that the ponies were moving away from him,toward the south. The rest was, of course, but shrewdinference.

From the summit he sought, he could see nothing but a cloud ofdust receding down a canyon, and so he moved on after theretreating herd. For three hours he followed without catching aglimpse of ponies or thieves until he came out into the foothillsand overlooked the plain beyond. Far out toward the south he sawjust what he had expected to see, all the ponies and mules of theBe-don-ko-he. Driving them was a detachment of Mexican troopers andin their rear rode the balance of the company.

To follow was useless. He turned and trotted back toward camp.Halfway up the canyon he met Geronimo and some twenty bravesalready on the trail. Gian-nah-tah was with them. Shoz-Dijiji toldGeronimo what he had seen, and when the party resumed the pursuit,not being forbidden, he fell in behind with Gian-nah-tah.

Far behind the mounted troopers, dogged, determined, trailed thetwenty—grim and terrible.

VIII. — VAQUEROS AND WARRIORS

DOWN into Sonora the trail of the raiders ledthem, but the Mexicans, versed in the ways of the Apaches, loiterednot upon the trail. Pushing their stolen stock to the utmost of theendurance of man and beast they kept ahead of their pursuers. Yetto accomplish it they were compelled to average from sixty toseventy miles a day through rough mountains and across fiery,dust-choked flats, thirst-tortured, wearied, quirting on theirjaded mounts in sullen effort to outdistance the avenging reddemons that they never saw, but who experience, torture-won, toldthem followed relentlessly just below the northern horizon. Bravemen, these, whose courage on countless savage, unsung fieldsdeserves a fairer recognition than it has received at the hands ofthe chroniclers north of the Line.

Exhausted, half-starved, the troopers rode at last into a cattleranch near Nacozari; where, after turning the stock over to a dozencowboys, they were asleep almost before they could satisfy thepangs of hunger.

Twenty miles behind them, their deep chests rising and fallingunhurriedly, trotted the twenty upon their trail. There were oldmen among them and youths yet unmatured, but nowhere was there signof fatigue, though for three days and nights they had hung doggedlyto the trail of mounted men, gaining in the last day almost all thedistance they had lost while the horses of the Mexicans werefresh.

Just before dark they halted within sight of the ranch and fromvantage points of concealment saw their herd grazing under thewatchful eyes of the dozen vaqueros. Quenching their thirst in thenauseous, sun-heated contents of their septic water bottles,allaying their hunger with bits of dried meat, tough as leather andstinking to heaven, they waited. They were not resting, they weremerely waiting.

Mighty men were these, as nearly immune to fatigue as humanflesh may ever be, or ever has been. Some there were among them,however, who, feeling perhaps a hint of rebellion upon the part ofoverdriven muscles, cut switches from ready mesquite and lashedrecalcitrant legs until they bled, scarifying them to renewed lifeand vitality.

Shoz-Dijiji was not of these. He had not tired. Prone behind alittle bush, chewing upon a bit of strength-giving carrion, hissober, unchanging eyes bored through the dusk down to theunsuspecting vaqueros and the herd. They held mostly upon abrowsing pinto, Nejeunee, friend, as his name implied, pal,comrade, prized possession of this son of Geronimo. Shoz-Dijijiowned two other ponies. They, too, were there; but they were not tohim as was Nejeunee.

The youth chafed to move forward to the battle. He glancedbehind him in the direction of Geronimo who would give the signalfor advance and attack. He saw that the old chief and the otherwarriors had removed their shirts and cotton drawers. They werestripped now to moccasins, G-strings, head handkerchiefs, and theywere greasing their bodies and painting their faces. Shoz-Dijijithrilled. The war paint—Ah! how it had always filled hisbrain with fire and his breast with savage emotions that he couldnot fathom, that he could only feel as they raised him to anexaltation, to a fanaticism of the spirit such as the old crusadersmust have felt as they donned their armor to set their lancesagainst the infidels. Deep within him smoldered the savage fires ofhis Caledonian ancestry that made him one with the grim crusadersof the past and with the naked descendants of the Athapascanspreparing for battle.

The hearts of the crusaders were upheld by the holiness of theircause; the soldiers of the Sultan Saladin died defending Allah andthe right; Usen looked down upon the Be-don-ko-he and was pleased.Who may judge where the right lay?

Geronimo sent a warrior to relieve Shoz-Dijiji that he mightstrip and prepare for battle. Dusk deepened into a moonless nightcanopied by a star-shot heaven so clear and close that the starsseemed friends that one might reach out and touch. The Apaches,lovers of Nature, sensed beauties that many a dull frontier clod ofthe usurping superior race lacked the soul to see. Even on theverge of battle they felt and acknowledged the wonders and beautiesof the night, casting hoddentin to the heavens and the winds asthey prayed to their amulets and consulted their phylacteries.

The time had come. The war chief had issued his orders. Eachbrave knew his position and his duties. One by one they crept fromthe concealment of the mesquite thicket behind which they had madetheir preparations. Below them and up wind was the herd. No bushwas too small to offer them concealment as they crept down towardthe enemy.

Half the band was to circle to the opposite side of the herd,which, being composed principally of Indian stock, would not beexcited by the scent of Indians. Geronimo went with thisdetachment. At his signal the Apaches would attack simultaneouslyupon all sides. Certain braves were to be the first to seize mountsand attempt to drive off the balance of the stock. Shoz-Dijiji wasone of those chosen for this duty. He would rather have remainedand fought, but the word of the war chief was law toShoz-Dijiji.

Following the braves with Geronimo, the youth, belly to theground, crept stealthily to the rear of the herd, giving thevaqueros a wide berth. The warriors, increasing their distances,spread out until a thin line entirely surrounded the Mexicans andtheir charges; then they closed in. The Apaches worked with almostthe precision of trained troops but without word of command.

Geronimo saw a vaquero a few yards in front of him turn in hissaddle and peer intently at the shrub behind which the war chieflay. For a long moment the Mexican watched intently; then,apparently satisfied, he looked in another direction. Geronimo tookdeliberate aim and pressed the trigger of his Springfield. Therewas a flash and roar. The Mexican fell forward upon his horse'sneck.

Simultaneously the quiet of the night was blasted by a bedlam ofhideous war whoops. From all sides, from all directions they fellupon the ears of the vaqueros. There was the cracking of rifles andthe shouts and curses of men. Shoz-Dijiji, Gian-nah-tah and anotherrushed into the midst of the herd. The Black Bear whistled shrillyand Nejeunee, at a distance, half-frightened by the noise andconfusion, about ready to break for liberty and safety, heard.Halting, he turned with up-pricked ears and looked back in thedirection of the familiar sound. Again the youth whistled and therewas an answering nicker from the stallion.

Arrows and lances and bullets flew thickly through the air. Onlythe fast movement of the participants, and the darkness, held downthe casualties. The Mexicans, separated, surprised, outnumbered,readily assumed the attacking force much greater than it was, yetstrove valiantly to protect the herd and hold it from stampede. TheApaches, profiting by the darkness, advantaging by the shrewdstrategy of Geronimo, carried through their well-planned attackwith whirlwind rapidity.

Shouldering through the frightened herd, Nejeunee galloped tohis master. A vaquero, catching sight of the youth, wheeled hismount and bore down upon him. Shoz-Dijiji hurled his lance andmissed as the other fired point-blank at him from a distance soclose that the next stride of his horse brought him abreast theyouthful brave. The powder from the six-shooter of his assailantburned Shoz-Dijiji's cheek as the bullet whizzed by his ear, and atthe same instant the Apache leaped for the vaquero, caught his arm,and swung to the horse's rump behind the saddle of the Mexican.

The frightened horse leaped forward as its rider, dropping thereins the better to defend himself, sought to rid himself of thesavage Nemesis upon his back. At their side raced Nejeunee, harkingto the low words of Shoz-Dijiji urging him on. About the neck ofthe Mexican went a sinewy left arm, a well-greased, muscular,copper-colored arm, as the Apache's right hand drew a hunting knifefrom its sheath.

As they flashed by them Geronimo and two other warriors saw andvoiced their applause of the Black Bear in savage whoops ofapprobation. His black hair flying from beneath his head band, hismuscles tensed to the exigencies of mortal combat, his black eyesflashing fierce hatred, Shoz-Dijiji with a forearm beneath hisadversary's chin had forced back the latter's head until now theyrode cheek to cheek while the knife of the Apache hovered above theback-stretched throat of the Mexican. For but an instant ithovered. Seeing, the terrified vaquero voiced a single shriek whichended in a bloody gurgle as the keen blade cut deep from ear toear.

Slipping from the horse's rump clear of the falling corpse,Shoz-Dijiji leaped to Nejeunee's back and, bridleless, guided himin a circle that rounded the rear of the herd, where, whooping,yelling, he commenced the task of turning it toward the north,assisted by Gian-nah-tah and the warrior who had been detailed forthis duty. One by one the other warriors of the party caught mountsfrom the milling, frightened herd—in itself a highly arduousand dangerous undertaking amid the flying heels and bared teeth ofthe half wild, wholly frightened animals—as the remainingvaqueros, believing themselves attacked by the full strength of thesix Apache tribes raced for the camp of the soldiers. Of the twelvetwo were dead, and one, his horse shot from beneath him, rodebehind a comrade.

Awakened by the shots and the war whoops the sleepy soldierswere stumbling to arms under the oaths and urgings of theirofficers as the ten vaqueros galloped into camp with as manyexcited versions of the attack and the battle as there weresurvivors. The commanding officer listened, asked questions, sworeluridly when he discovered that not only all the stock that he hadwon from the Apaches in the face of torture, death and unspeakablehardship had been run off by the renegades, but all the horses ofhis command, as well as those belonging to the ranch, with theexception of the nine that had come back from the scene ofbattle.

Bad as this was it did not constitute his greatest concern, forif the Indians numbered but a fraction of what the vaquerosreported, their force was sufficient to wipe out his entirecommand; and it was not at all unlikely that, after starting theherd at a safe distance on the way toward Arizona, they wouldreturn in force and attack his camp. Thoughts of defense,therefore, were paramount to plans of pursuit, and the officer setabout placing a strong guard about his position.

But no attack materialized. The Apaches did not reappear. Theywere far away upon the northern trail, urging their ponies togreater speed as they drove the captured herd ahead all during thelong night. In their rear rode Geronimo, Shoz-Dijiji and anotherwarrior to guard against a surprise attack by pursuers. Stoppingoften to watch and listen they fell far behind.

"Shoz-Dijiji did well," said Geronimo. "You are young, butalready you have three battles to your credit—a fourth andthe council of warriors can accept you. Geronimo is proud. Helaughed when he saw you cut the throat of the Mexican. That waswell done. Kill them, Shoz-Dijiji, kill them—always."

"But Geronimo does not always kill them," said the youth."Sometimes Geronimo goes among them to trade, and laughs and jokeswith them."

The war chief grunted. "That," said he, "is the wisdom of an oldchief. Go among them and trade and laugh and make jokes so thatwhen you come the next day to cut their throats they will not beprepared to resist you."

A simple, kindly soul was the old chief when compared with thediplomats of civilization who seek by insidious and falsepropaganda to break down the defenses of whole nations that theymay fall easier prey to the attacks of their enemies. Yet ever willthe name of Geronimo be held up to a horrified world as thepersonification of cruelty and treachery, though during his entirelife fewer men died at the hands of the six tribes of the Apachesthan fell in a single day of many an offensive movement during arecent war between cultured nations.

This was the first time that Shoz-Dijiji had been permitted toenter into conversation since the war party had left in pursuit ofthe Mexicans and so, while far from garrulous, he made the most ofit, as he never tired of listening to the too infrequent tales ofhis sire, and tonight, as they rode side by side, he felt thatGeronimo was in good humor and ripe for narrative.

"Shoz-Dijiji knows why Geronimo hates the Mexicans," said theyouth, "and Shoz-Dijiji hates them, too—also, he hates thepindah lickoyee. But before the Mexicans murdered the mother ofGeronimo and his wife and children, and the soldiers of thewhite-eyes slew the Apaches they had invited to have food withthem, and before Mangas Colorado was treacherously murdered, didthe Apaches have reason to hate the Mexicans and thewhite-eyes?"

"Many years ago," commenced Geronimo, "when Go-yat-thlay was yeta youth, El Gobernador del Chihuahua put a price upon the scalps ofApaches, just as the pindah lickoyee do upon the scalps of wolves.For each Apache scalp brought to him he offered to pay thirtydollars, nor was this for the scalps of warriors only, but includedthe scalps of women and children. They treated us even then yousee, not like men but like wild beasts. But even this offer, largeas it was, did not bring him many scalps of Apaches, for few thereare who will hunt scalps who have scalps to lose and always, thenas now, the name of the Apache turned the hearts of his enemies towater.

"But there was a pindah lickoyee called Gal-lan-tin whose heartwas very bad. He was chief of a band of white-eyes so wicked thateveryone feared them. This Gal-lan-tin determined to become rich bykilling Apaches and taking their scalps to El Gobernador; butcollecting the scalps of Apaches is not either a safe or easypastime.

"We drove Gal-lan-tin and his band from our country, but laterwe learned that he was collecting much money for 'Apache' scalps.Then we heard that we had been raiding the villages of the Papago,the Opatah and the Yaqui, killing many, and that we had enteredMexico upon the war trail and killed many Mexicans. All this timewe had been in our own country, not having made a raid into Mexico,or upon any other Indian tribes. We were not at war. We were atpeace.

"After a while Gal-lan-tin and his band were caught by Mexicantroops in the act of scalping some Mexicans they had killed, andthen everyone knew, what the Apaches had known for a long time,that it was Gal-lan-tin who had killed the Papagos, the Opatahs,the Yaquis and the Mexicans; and we laughed in our blankets when wethought of El Gobernador del Chihuahua paying out good silver forthe scalps of his neighbors and his friends.

"Thus, by accident, was the truth learned in this case; butthere were many other murders committed by white-eyes and Mexicansthat were blamed upon the Apaches. That is the way of the pindahlickoyee. They are fools. They find a dead man and they say he waskilled by Apaches. The Apaches find a dead man and they can readall about him the story of his death. They do not have to guess.Not so the pindah lickoyee."

"He escaped from the Mexican soldiers and brought his band toNew Mexico. There they bought some sheep and stole more thannab-kee-go-nay-nan-too-ooh, making in all some twenty-five hundredhead, and with these they started for the country which the pindahlickoyee call California.

"On the shores of a great river which separates that countryfrom ours the Yuma Indians fell upon them and killed them all. TheApaches were sorry that it had not fallen to their lot to killGal-lan-tin and his band, for they had many sheep."

Shortly after daylight the Apaches camped while Geronimo,Shoz-Dijiji and one other watched the trail behind. The Indiansmade no fire lest pursuers might be attracted by the smoke. A fewheld the herd in a grassy canyon while the others slept. Far to thesouth of them Geronimo and the warrior dozed in the shade of astunted cedar on a hillside while Shoz-Dijiji watched with untiringeyes the rearward trail.

Having eaten, Shoz-Dijiji quenched his thirst from his waterbottle, drawing the liquid into his mouth through his drinkingreed, a bit of cane, attached to his scanty apparel by a length ofbuckskin, for no water might touch his lips during his fournovitiate excursions upon the war trail. Treasured therefore washis sacred drinking reed without which he must choose between deathby thirst and the loss of credit for all that he had performed uponthe war trail, together with the attendant ridicule of thetribe.

Only slightly less esteemed was another treasure dangling from asecond buckskin thong—a bit of cedar three inches in lengthand less than half an inch in width. This was his scratch stick, anarticle that he found constant use for, since he might not scratchhimself with his fingers during this holy period of initiation intothe rites and mysteries of the sacred war trail. These twonecessary adjuncts to the successful consummation of his ambitionhe had fashioned in the high places under the eyes of Usen; he hadsanctified them with prayer and the sacrificial offering ofhoddentin and he had brought them to Nakay-do-klunni, the greatizze nantan, to be blessed, and so he set great store by them, buthe was glad that soon he would not have to carry them upon the wartrail.

With one more test of his fitness, which might come this veryday or the next, he would be ready to go before the councilprepared to lay away forever the last vestiges of his youth; and sohe strained his eyes in an effort to discover the first signs ofpursuit which might afford him the opportunity he craved.

A warrior! The young blood surged hot and savage in his veins,conjured by that magic word. A warrior! To come and go as hewished, master of his own destiny, answerable to none; hisachievements limited only by the measure of his own prowess. He sawhimself a great chief—war chief of all the Apaches. And inthe vivid picture that imagination projected upon his screen ofdreams the same figures, the same scenes recurred interminably; thewar trail, where he fought the blue-clad soldiers of the pindahlickoyee side by side with his best friend, Gian-nah-tah; thecouncil, with the sinister figure of Juh thwarted, confounded atevery turn and finally locked with Shoz-Dijiji in a duel to death;the camp, where in his own tepee he rested after the war trail andthe chase in the arms of Ish-kay-nay.

Geronimo awoke and relieving the youth told him to sleep. Theday wore on, the three relieving one another in turn. Shoz-Dijijihad led the three horses to a tiny spring to water them and to fillthe water bottles of his companions and his own. Geronimo waswatching—back toward the south.

Throw yourself prone beside this savage sentinel and follow hisgaze along the back trail. Your eyes just top the summit of a ridgewhich hides your body from an enemy approaching from the south. Asmall bush, from which you have broken a few branches that you mayhave an unobstructed field of vision, masks that portion of yourhead that rises above the ridge. An enemy might approach you up thesouthern slope of the ridge to within a few feet of the concealingbush and not detect your presence.

Just below, to the south, is a tiny meadow, its grasses sere andyellow; for the rains passed months ago. Beneath a single tree atthe upper end of the meadow is a mud hole where Shoz-Dijiji, havingfilled the water bottles, is letting the ponies drink. Farther onthe canyon widens where it debouches on a rolling plain thatstretches on and on to hazy mountains in the south. There aremountains to the west, too; and close at hand, in the east, risethe more imposing Sierra Madre.

The plain shimmers in the heat that is still intense, though thesun is low. The sage and the greasewood point long, shadowy fingerstoward the Mother of Mountains. Nowhere in all that vast expansethat your eye can see is there a sign of life. You might be lookingupon a dead world or a painted canvas. The slow lengthening of theshadows is imperceptible. You see nothing that might even remotelysuggest life, beyond the solitary brave watering the ponies belowyou; but that is because the asthenia of civilization has left youhalf blind as well as half deaf, for where you see nothing and hearnothing Geronimo is conscious of life, movement and sound—ofrodents, reptiles and birds awaiting, quiescent, the lessening heatof dusk.

Of these things he is merely conscious, his attention beingcentered upon some tiny specks moving in the haze of the distanthorizon. These you could not see if they were pointed out, muchless recognize; but Geronimo has been watching them for some time.He has recognized them, counted them. He half turned toward hiscompanion who was freshening the paint upon his face.

The other crawled to his side and looked. "They will camp heretonight," he said. "It is the first water."

Geronimo nodded and grunted some brief instructions. The warriormade his way leisurely down to the water hole, which Shoz-Dijijihad now left. Arrived at his destination he proceeded to carry outthe instructions of his chief, muddying the water hole and thenbefouling it beyond use by man or beast. Disgusting? Hideous?Cruel? Do not forget that he was on the war trail. Do not forgetthat he was only a savage, primitive Apache Indian. Make allowancesfor him. Had he had the cultural advantages of the gorgeousgenerals of civilization he might have found the means to unloose apoison gas that would have destroyed half the population ofSonora.

For two hours the three Be-don-ko-hes watched the approachingMexicans. Then Geronimo told the warrior to take three ponies andgo northward along the trail of the herd for a mile or two,awaiting there the coming of him and Shoz-Dijiji.

It was nine o'clock before the nine vaqueros, tired, hot, dusty,thirsty, threw themselves from their saddles in the little meadowand sought the water hole. Presently there arose upon the stillnight air lurid profanity. Above, looking down upon the starlitscene, the two watchers grinned while the vaqueros held council.Should they press on or should they remain here in a dry camp forthe night?

Their horses were jaded. It was ten miles to the next water; butmost serious of all, they might overtake the Apaches in the darkdefiles of the mountains, and they did not want the Apaches to knowthat they were following until they found a place where they mightstrike with greater likelihood of success. To be discovered by theenemy now, at night, would be to court extermination. They decidedto remain where they were until dawn, and so they left one man onguard while the others slept. Just above them lay the war chief ofall the Apaches with his son, Shoz-Dijiji, watching their everymove.

An hour passed. The tethered horses of the Mexicans, jaded,stood with drooping heads. The camp slept, even to the singlesentry. He was but a youth—a very tired youth—who hadfought manfully against sleep until it had become torture. Then hehad succumbed.

Geronimo whispered to Shoz-Dijiji and the young brave slippedsilently over the summit of the ridge and wormed his way downtoward the sleeping bivouac. With the caution of a panther movingupon its prey he crept. No loosened stone, no complaining twig, norustling grasses bespoke his passing. The shadow of a floatingcloud had been as audible. Above him, his Springfield cocked andready, Geronimo covered the youth's advance, but there was noneed.

Shoz-Dijiji went quietly to the horses, calming them withsoothing, whispered words. Quickly he cut both ends of the picketline to which they were tethered, and grasping one loose end in hishand moved slowly up the canyon, the horses following him. Half amile from the camp Geronimo joined him. Behind them the vaquerosslept on undisturbed, their lives preserved by the grim humor ofthe Apache war chief.

Geronimo was pleased. He derived immense satisfaction bypicturing the astonishment and chagrin of the Mexicans when theyawoke in the morning and found themselves afoot many weary,waterless miles from the nearest rancho. He visualized theirsurprise when they realized that Apaches had been in their campwhile they slept; and he guessed that they would not loiter on thetrail toward the south, for he justly appraised, and gloried in,the fear that that name aroused in the hearts of his enemies.

Presently Geronimo voiced the call of the owl and faintly fromafar he heard it answered ahead of them, and knew that theircompanion was awaiting there with their ponies.

At noon the next day they overtook their fellows and turned thenewly captured stock in with the balance of the herd. With greatgusto they recounted their exploit. That is, Geronimo and thewarrior did. The ban of silence kept Shoz-Dijiji's tongue still inhis head, but it did not prevent him strutting just ever solittle.

IX. — LOVE

THERE was rejoicing in the camp of theBe-don-ko-he when the war party returned with its spoil. Victorioand Juh were there with a hunting party of Chi-hen-ne and Ned-niand they joined in the jubilation, the feasting and the drinkingand in the council of the warriors that was held in the open, thebraves sitting in a circle about a small fire while Geronimo,eloquent with tizwin, narrated the exploits of his party, his stylefettered by no embarrassing restraint of modesty.

To Shoz-Dijiji he gave full credit for the stealing of thehorses of the Mexicans, pointing out that while no fight ensuedthis exploit was fully as much to the youth's credit as anyengagement with arms, since it required craft, cunning and braveryof a high order. He expatiated upon Shoz-Dijiji's strength andcourage in his duel with the mounted vaquero, and in his perorationcalled upon the council to vote Shoz-Dijiji's admission to thewarrior class.

When he had sat down others arose and spoke of the valor of thecandidate, of his prowess upon the war trail, his skill andtirelessness in the chase, of his exemplary conduct during hisnovitiate. Victorio spoke for him and many another noted warrior,and then Juh arose, sullen, scowling.

"Chiefs and warriors of the Shis-Inday," he said, "a warrior isknown not alone by the things that he does but by those that hefails to do. The names of Delgadito, Mangas Colorado, Cochise,Victorio, Geronimo and Juh strike terror to the hearts of theirfoes.

"The enemy is filled with fear and ready to retreat at themention of these names. Why? Because all these warriors made deathor capture so horrible that the hearts of all their enemies turn towater before a weapon is raised in combat. Upon this fact more thanupon their bravery and skill rests their great value to theShis-Inday.

"One who is afraid to torture is a coward and unfitted to be awarrior. Such is Shoz-Dijiji. His heart is as soft as a woman'sbreast. To most of us Shoz-Dijiji is known best by his continuedrefusal to torture. Even as a child he joined not with the otherchildren in torturing the birds and animals which they snared, andnever once upon the war trail has he inflicted pain upon a woundedor prisoner enemy. I, Juh, will not vote to make Shoz-Dijiji awarrior."

After he had resumed his seat there was silence around thecouncil fire for several minutes. Then Geronimo arose. In his heartwas murder, but in his cruel features, schooled to obey his will,there was no hint of it.

"Juh, Chief of the Ned-ni, knows that a single voice raisedagainst Shoz-Dijiji now will prevent him from being admitted to thewarrior class until he has undergone another trial upon the wartrail. Geronimo knows that the words of Juh are not prompted byloyalty to the Shis-Inday as much as they are by hatred ofShoz-Dijiji. This is not the act of a brave warrior or a greatchief. Such things bring strife among the Shis-Inday. Does Juh wishto change his words before it is too late?"

The chief of the Ned-ni sprang to his feet. "Juh has spoken," hecried. "Juh does not change his words. Let Shoz-Dijiji change hisways to the ways of a warrior and Juh will, perhaps, speakdifferently at another council."

"The laws of the Shis-Inday were made by Usen," said Geronimo,"and they may not be lightly changed. The words have been spokenand not recalled. Shoz-Dijiji must go again upon the war trail andprove himself once again fit to become a warrior. I, Geronimo, warchief of the Apaches say these words." He sat down.

However keen the disappointment of Shoz-Dijiji when he was toldof the action of the council, he received the information with thestolid indifference of an Indian, though within his breast thefires of his hatred for Juh burned with renewed fury. Ish-kay-nay,understanding, spoke words of praise and comfort, and Gian-rah-tahapplied vile, obscene Apache epithets to the great chiefJuh—when he was sure that no Ned-ni might overhear him.

Ish-kay-nay had a suggestion to make. "Upon the next raid,Shoz-Dijiji," she advised, "do not kill. Torture the living,mutilate the dead. Show them that your heart is strong."

"Never!" exclaimed Shoz-Dijiji. "If for no other reason, becauseJuh wishes me to, I will not do it."

"Why do you not torture?" asked Ish-kay-nay. "You arebrave—everyone knows that—so it cannot be that you areafraid."

"I see no sense in it," replied the young brave. "It gives me nopleasure." He paused. "Ish-kay-nay, l cannot explain why it is andI have never told any one before, but when I see warriors torturingthe helpless wounded and the defenseless prisoner, mutilating deadmen who have fought bravely, something comes into my heart which isnot pride of my people. I am ashamed, Ish-kay-nay, of even my ownfather, Geronimo.

"I do not know why. I only know that I speak true words withoutunderstanding them. I know that I am no coward; but I should not beso sure of that had I plunged a red hot king bolt into a screamingwhite woman, as I have seen Juh do, and laughed at her agonies ofdeath."

"I do not feel pity," replied Shoz-Dijiji. "I care not how muchthey suffer. I only know that it gives me no pleasure to watch themand that I do not think that it shows bravery to raise a weaponagainst any creature which cannot inflict harm upon you in return,except in the chase, where any man may kill for food."

"Perhaps Shoz-Dijiji is right," said Ish-kay-nay "I had neverthought of it in this way before."

But he had not a great while to wait before his chance came.Living, as the Apache did, in constant danger of attack by thesoldiers of two civilized powers as well as by raiding parties ofhostile Indian tribes, he found it expedient, in the interest ofsurvival, to maintain constant, unflagging watchfulness. To thisend Geronimo, however safely he might consider his village hidden,kept scouts almost constantly in the field.

To this duty, one in which he delighted, Shoz-Dijiji was oftendetailed. It sent him alone into the solitudes that he loved, toplay in stern reality the games of his childhood. It kept himalways hard and fit for the war trail—the ultimate hope andambition of the warrior. It practiced him continually in the woodand plain craft in which he already excelled.

Sometimes, astride Nejeunee, he covered prodigious distances ina day, but oftener, on foot, he also covered prodigious distances.Forty, fifty, at times a hundred miles of barren land would unrollbeneath his steady jog in a single day. His great lungs pushed outhis giant chest. The muscles of his mighty legs might, it almostseemed, turn a bullet, so hard were they. He was a man now, by thestandards of the Apache, except for the fact that he had not yetbeen admitted to the warrior class.

Among the Be-don-ko-he he was looked upon with respect andadmiration, for they knew that it was only the hatred of Juh thatprevented him from being a warrior. Upon the war trail and in thechase he had proved himself all that a warrior should be, and hecarried himself with the restraint and dignity of a chief.Ish-kay-nay was very proud of him, for it was no secret in thetribe that when Shoz-Dijiji became a warrior his pony would be tiedbefore her tepee, nor was there one who believed that she wouldwait the full four days before leading it to water and feedingit.

Afoot, fifty miles from camp, Shoz-Dijiji was scouting. A fewmiles ahead in the hills there was water and toward this he wasmaking his way one mid-afternoon. A blistering sun poured down uponhim, the superheated earth and rocks of the trail gave it back insearing intensity. The country he had crossed had been entirelywaterless, and so it was that Shoz-Dijiji looked forward to thelittle spring hidden in these seemingly arid hills, a spring knownonly to his people, sacred to the Apaches.

Suddenly there was wafted to the Indian's nostrils the faintestsuggestion of an acrid odor and simultaneously he vanished from thelandscape, so quickly did he react to this tenuous hint of danger.A greasewood hid him from the direction down which a barely movingcurrent of air had wafted this certain indication of the presenceof man. From straight ahead it came, from the direction in which hewas going. Where there was smoke there was man and man would not bemaking a fire in this vicinity elsewhere than beside the waterwhere Shoz-Dijiji was planning to quench his thirst.

From beneath the greasewood his keen eyes looked out toward thelow hill behind which lay the water, and now he saw thin smokearising. So little was the smoke that Shoz-Dijiji almost felt thatit had been made by Indians, yet, too, he knew that near the waterthere was little wherewith to make a fire, and so, perchance, thepindah lickoyee, who ordinarily make great fires, foolishly, hadbeen forced to make a small fire from want of fuel. Therefore hecould not be sure whether Indians or whites were concealed behindthat little hill. If they were the former, and Apaches, well andgood, but if they were not, then they were enemies, for every man'shand is against the Apache.

Shoz-Dijiji, with the patience that is only an Indian's, laysilent, motionless for hours. As he lay he broke branches from thegreasewood, which chanced to be an unusually large bush, until atlast he had gathered enough to form quite a respectable screen.Then, having seen or heard no further signs of life from beyond thehill, he crawled forward a few inches, keeping the screen beforehim. Again he lay motionless for a while, watching, before headvanced a short distance.

This he kept up for a full hour, during which he had covered thedistance to the foot of the hill and up its slope almost to thesummit. Now he could hear voices, and they told him that he wasapproaching the camp of white men—three of them.

Shoz-Dijiji felt the heat of just anger surge through him. Whatright had these aliens at the water hole of the Shis-Inday? For athousand thousand years had this spring been hidden away from thesight of man, just where Usen had placed it for the use of the sixtribes. That three white-eyed men should camp beside it, quenchtheir thirst, cook their food, sleep and move on, aroused, ofitself, no resentment in the heart of Shoz-Dijiji; it was theforegone conclusion of the aftermath that caused his apprehensionand his determination to prevent the natural sequences of thisevent.

He and his people had seen the pindah lickoyee "discover" theirhidden springs and water holes many times before in the past. Inones or twos or threes the white-eyed men had stumbled upon thesegifts of Usen to his people in the arid places, and presently atrail was beaten to them and many of the white-eyed ones came, andthe birds and the game were frightened away. Often a fence wasbuilt around the water and a white man with bushy whiskers, anddirt in his ears, guarded it, a rifle in one hand, a bottle ofwhiskey in the other, making other white men pay for the water,keeping the Indians away from it entirely.

Warriors of the Be-don-ko-he, fathers of his playmates, had beenshot by such men when they had sought to quench their thirst atsprings from which they had drunk since childhood, and that theirfathers had used before them beyond the memory of man. Such werethe thoughts that filled the heart of Shoz-Dijiji as he crepttoward the summit of the hill that hid the usurpers from hisview.

At last his eyes looked down upon the scene beyond, burning pitsof hate in which there lived no slightest spark of aught butloathing and contempt. The Comanche, the Navajo, the bear, thesnake might awaken admiration in the breast of the Apache, but thewhite man, never!

He saw three bearded men sprawled upon the ground. One of themwas frying bacon above a small fire. Two burros, thin, dejected,stood with drooping heads. A third was stretched upon the ground,exhausted. Their packs lay in disorder all about. The men appearedto be weak. Shoz-Dijiji read their story at a glance.

Lost in this waterless wasteland, they had found the spring byaccident just in time to save themselves from death. He noted theirsunken cheeks and eyes; he saw their feeble movements. But therewas no answering pity in his heart. In his mind, however, therearose vividly the recollection of a white soldier wantonly hurlinghim to the ground, and of his words, the meaning of which he hadlearned at San Carlos: "What the hell are you doing here, you dirtySiwash?" A shudder ran through the frame of Shoz-Dijiji then, as italways did at recollection of the humiliation of that moment at HotSprings.

He noted carefully every detail of the scene below him. He sawthat the men, with scarce the strength to carry their own weight,had transferred everything to the packs of the burros, evenincluding their rifles and revolvers, and these lay now at a littledistance from them, entangled in the piles of carelesslydown-thrown tools, bedding and provisions that go to make up theoutfits of prospectors.

Shoz-Dijiji withdrew three arrows from his quiver and placedthem between his fingers, he grasped his bow and arose to his fullheight. Silently, majestically he strode down toward the white men.He was almost upon them before he who was watching the bacondiscovered him. The others had been lying with closed eyes. Thewhite man gave a cry of alarm, that cry that had sent the chill offear along countless white spines for three hundred years"Apaches!" and staggered weakly in an effort to reach hisrifle.

"What the hell are you doing here, you dirty white-eyes?"demanded Shoz-Dijiji in English; but he did not wait for areply—the soldier who had thrown him to the ground at HotSprings had not and he had learned his technique from the whitesoldier. Instead, his bow string twanged and an iron-shod arrowpierced the heart of the prospector. The two remaining whitessprang to defend themselves, one seizing a hand axe, the other thehot frying pan, the only weapons within their reach. With swiftrapidity two more arrows leaped from the mesquite bow.

With the hand axe Shoz-Dijiji made assurance of death doublysure, then he scalped the three, selected from their persons andtheir packs everything that could prove of value to an Apache,packed the loot upon the two stronger burros, quenched his thirstand, leading the animals, moved on into the hills for about twomiles. Here he cached in a small cave everything but a singlerifle, a six-shooter and a belt of ammunition, which heappropriated to his own immediate use, turned the burros loose andstarted back toward the camp of his people, fifty miles away.

Travelling in the lesser heat of the night, taking short cutsacross open valleys that he must avoid in the light of day,Shoz-Dijiji made rapid progress, arriving in camp about two o'clockthe following morning, some eight hours after he had left his lootcached in the mountains.

When he awoke, well after midday, he exhibited his newlyacquired arms, boasted of his exploit, and showed the three bloodyscalps as proof of his prowess.

"I, myself, Shoz-Dijiji," he said, "crept alone upon the camp ofthe pindah lickoyee. There were three of them, but Shoz-Dijijiknows not the word fear. In the broad light of chigo-na-ay hewalked down into the camp of the white-eyes and slew them. He tookmuch loot and hid it in a cave in the mountains. Here are the scalplocks of the white-eyed men. Here are the weapons of one ofthem."

Geronimo grunted approvingly. Victorio fingered the rifle of thedead prospector enviously. Juh was not there. With his Ned-ni hehad returned to his own country. To Shoz-Dijiji came aninspiration.

"There are two more rifles in the cave in the mountains," hesaid; "one for Geronimo and one for Victorio, and there arepresents for many braves and their women. If Geronimo speaks thewords Shoz-Dijiji will return with ponies and fetch these thingsfor his friends."

Geronimo nodded. "Go," he said, "and take Gian-nah-tah with you.He can help." So that very night Shoz-Dijiji and Gian-nah-tah setout upon their ponies with two led animals upon which to pack theloot; and Geronimo said to Victorio: "Shoz-Dijiji took the wartrail and slew three of the enemies of his people. If he returnswith loot he has proved that he is fit to be a warrior. We willhold a council and vote again."

"Yes," agreed Victorio, "if he returns with many presents wewill make him a warrior. Juh is not here."

Three days later Shoz-Dijiji and Gian-nah-tah returned. The formerturned over all the loot, except one rifle, a revolver andammunition for himself, to Geronimo to distribute, announcing thathe was going that very night to the high places to pray to Usen, tomake big medicine and to prepare himself to become a warrior. Hiswords and manner carried a definite inference that he fullyexpected to be admitted to the council of warriors before hereturned. Geronimo laid his hand upon the shoulder of his son andthere were both pride and affection in the gesture.

"When Shoz-Dijiji returns from the high places," he said, "hewill be a warrior, or there will be a new chief of theBe-don-ko-he, for Geronimo will be dead."

But Geronimo did not die, and when Shoz-Dijiji returned aftertwo days of prayer he found himself a warrior. The first greatambition of his life was achieved and now the road lay clear to anyheights to which he might aspire. He was his own master, free to goand come as inclination prompted.

He could take a squaw, or as many of them as he could afford.Though he had but three ponies, which were scarcely enough tocompensate any fond father for the loss of the least attractive ofdaughters, he was in no way down-hearted. The girl of his choicewould unquestionably command several times three ponies, butShoz-Dijiji knew that he would win her and he was happy. He had nothought in his heart for any other mate. Ish-kay-nay would neverhave a rival in the affections of Shoz-Dijiji. Unquestionably hewould take other squaws as the years passed, thus lightening thedomestic burdens of Ish-kay-nay, since nothing less could beexpected of an important and prosperous warrior who had a name anddignity to uphold. Ish-kay-nay would expect at least this muchconsideration, and she would be ashamed if he proved too poor aprovider or too penurious a mate to support an establishmentcommensurate with the social standing of her family and his; butthat would come later—at first they would be alone.

Shoz-Dijiji had not seen Ish-kay-nay alone for a long time, buttonight he found her and together they wandered into the forest andsat upon the bole of a fallen tree. He held one of her hands in hisand putting an arm about her slim, young shoulders he drew her tohim. "My father is very angry," confided Ish-kay-nay.

"I love only Shoz-Dijiji," whispered the girl, snuggling closerto the bronze chest. "But the father of Ish-kay-nay knowing thatJuh is a powerful chief thinks that it would be best for him if hisdaughter belonged to Juh.

"He speaks often to me about it and he grows angry when Irefuse. Juh came last time to our village to make talk to my fatherof this matter. My father talked to me, but still I would notlisten. When he told him, Juh was very angry and said that he knewwho I was waiting for, but that I would wait forever as he wouldsee that Shoz-Dijiji never became a warrior.

"Of course such talk is foolish talk and my father knew it andthat sooner or later you must become a warrior, for he is not blindto the fact that you are already mighty upon the war trail and agreat hunter; but he sought to find another way to discourageIsh-kay-nay. He said that he would demand so many ponies from youthat you would be an old man before you could gather them, and thatunless I wanted a warrior before it was too late I had better lethim send for Juh again."

Shoz-Dijiji shook his head. "I do not have to run away with mysquaw," he said proudly. "I will take her before all men and giveher father as many ponies as he demands."

"If it takes a long time Ish-kay-nay will wait," announced thegirl, simply. Then, as though moved by a disturbing reflection,"But what if Ish-kay-nay waits so long that she is old andwrinkled? Then Shoz-Dijiji will not want her."

The young brave laughed and pressed her closer. "Shoz-Dijijiwill always want Ish-kay-nay," he insisted, "even though she be aswrinkled and old as Tze-go-juni, the medicine woman of theCho-kon-en; but Ish-kay-nay will not have to wait so long as that,for tomorrow morning she will find Nejeunee tied before hertepee.

"Poor Nejeunee! Always has he been fed and watered promptly whenhe was not running free upon the range. He will be sad when he seeschigo-na-ay rise and set four times while he stands thirsting forwater and hungering for good grama grass." He bent and lookedquizzically into the girl's face, half revealed by the rays ofklego-na-ay filtering softly silver through the spreading branchesof the pines.

Ish-kay-nay looked up and smiled. "Nejeunee shall be fed andwatered at dawn," she told him.

"No," he said, "Ish-kay-nay must wait at least two days, lestthe girls and the women make fun of her and think her immodest, ortoo anxious to have a warrior."

The girl threw her head up haughtily. "No one will dare say thatof Ish-kay-nay," she cried fiercely. "Nor will anyone think it.Does not every one know that I can have Juh, or any of a dozen ofthe bravest warriors of the Be-don-ko-he, Cho-kon-en, the Ned-ni orthe Chi-hen-ne? Is it any secret that Shoz-Dijiji loves me, or thatI love Shoz-Dijiji? Such foolishness is for fools."

X. — WICHITA BILLINGS

WHEN morning dawned it did not find Nejeunee tiedbefore the tepee of Ish-kay-nay, for the pinto stallion was faraway upon the war trail with his savage master. Word had come toGeronimo, even while Shoz-Dijiji and Ish-kay-nay were making lovein the woods, that troops from San Carlos were looking for him, thebodies of the three prospectors having been discovered by twoNavajo scouts in the employ of the government.

Immediately the peaceful camp of the Be-don-ko-he became thescene of hurried preparation for flight and for the war trail. Ascouting party of a dozen braves was dispatched in the directionfrom which the troops might be expected, to watch and report theirmovements; if necessary, to hold them in check while the main bodyof the Be-don-ko-he, with their women, their children, their ponyherd and their camp equipment made good their escape across theline into Mexico.

Hurriedly were war bands adjusted, grim faces streaked withpigment, weapons looked to, ponies caught and bridled. For thefirst time as a warrior Shoz-Dijiji prepared for the war trail.Across his swart face, from ear to ear, he painted a broad band ofvermilion, laying on the pigment boldly with the index finger ofhis right hand, stooping low toward the light of a little fire, hisfeatures reflected in a small round mirror held in his left hand.Above and below the vermilion band he laid a coat of blue, the baseof which was a ground micaceous stone. A single necklace adornedhis throat and two small silver rings were in his ears.

Attached to his person and concealed from view was histzi-daltai, wrapped in a three-inch square of buckskin upon whichwere painted crooked lines of red and yellow, depicting the redsnake and the yellow. This phylactery was in itself big medicineand very sacred; it added to the potency of his tzi-daltai,rendering that amulet all powerful. In addition to the tzi-daltaithe phylactery contained a bit of sacred turquoise, and a tinycross of lightning riven pine, which Shoz-Dijiji calledintchi-dijin, the black wind. Upon these things no alien eye mightlook without destroying their efficacy. For this reason the littlepackage was securely hidden in the folds of his loin cloth.

Upon his legs Shoz-Dijiji drew his long war moccasins with theirrawhide soles and protecting toe armor, their tops, three feetlong, he turned down from just below the knee, thus still furtherprotecting the lower leg from the sharp spines of the cactus.Slender thongs of buckskin, leading from the moccasin tops to thebelt of his loin cloth, kept the former from falling down aroundhis ankles. A pair of cotton drawers encased his legs and aquiet-hued print shirt covered his torso, its skirts fallingoutside the drawers. There was a cartridge belt around his waistand a six-shooter and a butcher knife at his hips, but he alsocarried his beloved bow and arrows as well as the rifle he hadtaken from the white prospector.

Shoz-Dijiji preferred the nakedness of a single loin cloth, forthus it had been his wont to go in all weathers since he woreanything at all, but custom seemed to demand these other things offull fledged warriors, though all were accustomed to discard themupon the eve of battle, and as he had just attained the status ofthe warrior class he felt it incumbent upon him to uphold itstraditions even to the point making himself supremely uncomfortablein hated shirt and drawers. However, the party had been upon thetrail but a short time before he discovered that the drawerswrinkled and chafed him and they were discarded with no regrets;and later in the day he removed his shirt and gave it toGian-nah-tah.

"It makes me look like a pindah lickoyee," he confided to hisfriend. "In it I do not feel free. I shall not wear it."

His bronzed hide, naked to the elements almost from birth,little felt the hot rays of the sun, thus eliminating the onlypractical reason why an Apache should wear a shirt at all. ThusShoz-Dijiji rode almost naked—except for moccasins, G-stringand head bandanna he was quite naked. Beneath his bandanna he worethe war band about his brow confining his black hair, slickedsmooth with tallow. It was not long after the shirt went that heremoved the bandanna, breathing a sigh of relief, for nowShoz-Dijiji was himself again.

Before dawn the party had separated, the braves, in pairs,moving at right angles to their original line of march, and in bothdirections, forming at last a thin line of scouts that surveyedfrom hidden vantage spots a front of sixty miles extending east andwest across the lines the troops would naturally follow as theymarched down from San Carlos.

Signals had been arranged and the rendezvous designated by thesub-chief in command. The braves were to proceed as quickly aspossible to certain advantageous positions indicated by thesub-chief. There they were to remain until they sighted troops, orreceived the signal that other scouts had sighted them. They wereto stay concealed and, if possible, avoid battle.

Shoz-Dijiji was accompanied by Gian-na-tah, and together theyrode through the night toward their appointed station, which theyreached shortly after dawn, making a slight detour to avoid a ranchhouse, and coming at last to the rocky rim of a canyon throughwhich led a well-travelled road along which it was a foregoneconclusion that troops would pass if they followed a certain routeto the border.

In lieu of a saddle Shoz-Dijiji rode astride a well-worn grayblanket. This he removed from Nejeunee's back after they had hiddenthe two ponies in a narrow ravine a mile from the road. Coming tothe rim of the canyon, Shoz-Dijiji lay flat upon his belly, hishead at the very edge of the summit of the precipitous wall of thecanyon. Quickly Gian-nah-tah draped the gray blanket about theblack poll of his friend, sprinkled dirt about its edges where theymet the ground, leaving only a small opening through which the keeneyes of the Black Bear might take in the whole of the canyonbelow.

From the road the most suspicious might have looked carefullyand seen only another gray boulder upon the canyon's rim.Gian-nah-tah, entirely concealed from the sight of anyone passingthrough the canyon, watched northward along the flank, where acareful and experienced Indian fighter would send Indian scoutsbefore permitting his command to enter the narrow canyon, soeminently suited to sudden and disastrous ambush. He also watchedto east and west for the signal that would announce the discoveryof the enemy by another scout.

Patience is a quality of mind and will but vaguely sensed bycivilized races. The higher types of savages have it developed to adegree of outstanding virtue but perhaps, of all peoples, the NorthAmerican Indians have achieved it most closely to perfection, andof these it remained for the Apaches to raise it to the pinnacle ofhighest specialization. With Shoz-Dijiji as with his fellows it wasa fine art in which he took just pride.

Thus it was that for hours he could lie perfectly motionless,watching the silent, deserted, dusty road below. No sound escapedhis ears, no odor, his nostrils; his eyes saw everything within therange of their vision. No lizard moved, no insect crawled along itsway that Shoz-Dijiji did not see and note. A rattle-snake crossedthe road and disappeared among the rocks upon the other side; ahorned toad, basking in the sun, awaiting unwary flies, attractedhis attention by its breathing so quiet and still were thesurroundings that even the gentle rising and falling of its wartyhide attracted the quick eyes of the Apache; a darting swift was assure of detection as would an Indian elephant have been.

And as he lay there his mind was occupied with many thoughts,mostly somber, for the mind of the Apache inclines in thatdirection. This background, however, was often shot with lights ofa happier vein—with recollections of Ish-kay-nay andanticipations. He considered, pridefully, the traditions of hispeople, the glory of their past, the exploits of their greatestwarriors; he pondered the wrongs that had been inflicted upon themby their enemies.

He recalled the tales of the murders committed upon them byMexicans and whites—the differentiation of color is strictlyand solely Apache—he reviewed the numerous and increasingthefts of their ancestral lands. These thoughts awakened within himno self-pity as they might have in an Anglo-Saxon, so thoroughlyhad training and environment succeeded in almost erasing hereditaryinclinations; instead they aroused hatred and a desire forvengeance.

His thoughts, gloomy or roseate, were suddenly interrupted by afaint sound that came down out of the north. It grew in intensity,so that Shoz-Dijiji knew that whatever caused it was approaching,and he knew what was causing it, the feet of horses moving at awalk. Listening, he determined that they were too few to announcethe approach of a body of troops. Perhaps a few scouts rode inadvance. He waited, watching the northern end of the canyon.

Presently three bearded men rode into view. They were notsoldiers. They were not cowboys. Shoz-Dijiji identified them as ofthat class of fools who scratched around in arid hills for theyellow iron, pesh-litzogue. He gazed down upon them with contempt.His fingers, resting upon his rifle, twitched. What a wonderfultarget they presented! But he was scouting and must forego thisUsen-given opportunity. Of course the sub-chief had only mentionedspecifically the soldiers of the white-eyes, when he had warnedthem against engaging the enemy. Technically Shoz-Dijiji would becommitting no disobedience were he to rid the world of these threequite useless creatures; but he knew that he had been sent here towatch for soldiers and for nothing else, so he curbed hisdesire.

The floor of the canyon was dotted with boulders, large andsmall, among which the road wound. Some of the boulders were largerthan a large tepee, offering splendid cover. Behind them more thanone man had fought and died, making his last stand.

Shoz-Dijiji was suddenly attracted by a sound coming from thesouth, a rhythmical sound that announced the approach of a lopinghorse. Two of the three men drew quickly behind a great boulder,the third behind another on the opposite side of the road. TheApache waited, watching. The loping horse drew nearer. He enteredthe lower end of the canyon and presently came within the range ofShoz-Dijiji's vision. Its rider was a girl—a white girl.

Even from where he lay he saw that she was very good to look at.As she came abreast of the three whites they rode directly into theroad and barred her passage, and as she sought to wheel her horseone of them reached out and seized her bridle rein. The girlreached for a six-shooter that hung at her hip, a cold, blue Colt;but another of the three had slipped from his saddle and run to herside. Now he grasped her wrist, tore the weapon from its holsterand dragged the girl to the ground. It was all done very quickly.Shoz-Dijiji watched. His hatred for the men mounted.

He could hear the words that were spoken below and he understoodthem. He heard the girl call one of the men by name, demanding thatthey release her. He felt the contempt in her tone and a likesentiment for them in his own breast aroused within him,unconsciously, a sense of comradeship with the girl.

"Your old man kicked me out," growled the man she had addressed."You told him to. I wasn't good enough for you, eh? You'll find Iam. You're goin' with me, but you ain't a-goin' as Mrs.Cheetim—you're goin' as Dirty Cheetim's woman. Sabe?"

The girl seemed very cool. Shoz-Dijiji could not but admire her.The ethics of the proceedings did not interest him; but suddenly hebecame aware of the fact that his interest was keenly aroused andthat his inclinations were strongly upon the side of the girl. Hedid not know why. He did not attempt to analyze his feelings. Heonly knew that it pleased him to interfere.

He heard the girl's reply. Her voice was steady, level, low. Ithad a quality that touched hidden chords within the breast of theApache, arousing pleasant reactions.

"You are a fool, Cheetim," she said. "You know my old man. Hewill kill you if he has to follow you to Hell to get you, and youknow it."

"They'll be two of us in Hell then," replied Cheetim. "Comeon—git back on that cayuse." He jerked her roughly. Thebarrel of a rifle slid quietly from beneath the edge of a grayboulder at the top of the canyon's wall; there was a loud reportthat rebounded thunderously from wall to wall. Cheetim dropped inhis tracks.

"Apaches!" screamed one of the remaining men and scrambled intohis saddle, closely followed by his companion. The girl's horsewheeled and ran toward the south. Another shot and one of thefleeing men toppled from his saddle. The girl looked up to see apainted, all but naked warrior leaping down the steep canyon sidetoward her. She reached for her Colt, forgetting that it was gone.Then he was beside her. She stood there bravely, facing him.

"Nejeunee," announced Shoz-Dijiji, which means friend orfriendly; but the girl did not understand. He held out his hand;this she understood. She took it, smiling.

"No savvy," lied Shoz-Dijiji. He picked up the Colt, where itlay beside the dead Cheetim, and handed it to her.

She pointed a finger at her own breast. "Me, Wichita Billings,"she announced, and then she pointed the finger at him,questioningly.

"Huh!" exclaimed the Apache. "Shoz-Dijiji," and he pointed athis own deep chest.

Without a word he turned and left her, walking south toward theend of the canyon. The girl followed because in that direction laythe ranch of her father. When she came in sight of the Apache againhe had already caught her horse and was leading it toward her. Hehanded her the bridle rein, pointed toward the ranch and started ata swinging trot up the side of the canyon. Being a wise girl andhaving lived in Indian country since she was born, Wichita Billingsput spurs to her horse and disappeared around a bend in the canyontoward the squat, fortified ranch house that was her home.

Why the Apache had befriended her she could not guess; but forthat matter Shoz-Dijiji could not guess either why he had acted ashe had. He knew what Geronimo or Juh would have done. He wonderedwhy he had not done likewise.

Halfway between the ranch and the canyon Wichita Billings mether father and two of his ranch hands. Faintly they had heard theshots from the direction of the canyon and knowing that the girlhad ridden in that direction they had started out to investigate.Briefly she told them what had transpired and Billings was franklypuzzled.

"Must have been a reservation Indian on pass," he decided."Maybe some buck we give grub to some time."

Wichita shook her head. "I never seen him before," she said,"and, Dad, that siwash wasn't on no pass, he was on thewarpath—paint, fixin's an' all. He didn't have nothin' on buta G-string an' moccasins, an' he was totin' a young arsenal."

"Ole Geronimo's been out quite some time," said one of thehands; "most likely it was one of his Cheeracows. Wisht I'd a-beenthere."

"Say, if you'd been there they couldn't no one of seen yourcoat-tails for the dust, Hank," laughed the girl as she gatheredher horse and reined toward the ranch again. "Besides I think thatbuck was one pretty good Indian, alive; the way he took my partagainst Cheetim."

"They ain't only one kind of a good Injun," grumbled Hank, "an'that's a dead one."

From behind a distant boulder Shoz-Dijiji and Gian-nah-tahwatched the four as they rode toward the ranch. "Why did you letthe woman go?" asked Gian-nah-tah.

"Gian-nah-tah," said Shoz-Dijiji, "this I may say to you becausewe are long time friends and because Gian-nah-tah knows that theheart of Shoz-Dijiji is brave: Shoz-Dijiji will never take the wartrail against women and children. That is for weaklings andwomen—not for a great warrior."

Gian-nah-tah shook his head, for he did not understand; nor, forthat matter, did Shoz-Dijiji, though each of them pondered thematter carefully for a long time after they had returned to theirrespective posts.

Gian-nah-tah, following the instructions of Shoz-Dijiji, watchednow carefully toward the ranch as well as for smoke signals fromthe east or west, or for flankers sneaking down through the hillsfrom the north; and at last, far away in the west, a distant smokerewarded his watching. Faintly at first it arose, a thin graycolumn against the azure sky, gained in volume, persistedsteadily.

Gian-nah-tah crept to Shoz-Dijiji's side, touched him andpointed. The young warrior saw the distant shaft risingunwaveringly through the still, midday air, calling the scatteredbands to the rendezvous, sending its message over an area as greatas the whole state of West Virginia, to be received with as variedemotions as there were eyes to see it.

It told the savage vedettes where the soldiers of the pindahlickoyee were marching toward the border and where to gather toharass and delay them; it brought an oath to the lips of a grizzledman in dusty blue who rode at the head of a weary, dust-chokedcolumn, for it told him that the wily enemy had sighted him andthat the clans were gathering to oppose him upon some well-selectedfield of their own choosing. To the far scattered cowman and minerit cried: "The hostiles are on the war-path!" and set them tobarricading ranch house and cabin, oiling breech blocks andcounting ammunition; it sent mothers to their knees in prayer, withcrying children huddled about them.

It filled the heart of Shoz-Dijiji with joyous song, for it toldhim that he was soon to fight his first fight as a warrior againstthe hated warriors of the pindah lickoyee. It urged the main bodyof the fleeing Be-don-ko-he onward toward the border, torturing,burning, ravishing, killing as it went. For an hour the smokecolumn hung in the sky, a beacon of the hate, the cruelties, thetreacheries, the wrongs that man inflicts on man.

Silently, from east and west, the Be-don-ko-he scouts assembledfar to the south of the long dead signal fire; and up from thesouth came Geronimo the next day with twelve warriors to reinforcethem. Slowly they dropped back, leaving sentinels upon their rearand flanks, sentinels who retreated just ahead of the advancingenemy, whose every move was always under observation by a foe henever saw.

The trail narrowed where it entered low, rocky, barren hills."Hold them here," said Geronimo to a sub-chief, and left fourwarriors with him, while he retreated another mile into the hillsand disposed his men for more determined resistance.

"Hell!" murmured a grizzled man in blue denim overalls down theseams of which the troop tailor had sewn broad yellow stripes. "Idon't believe there's an Apache within forty miles of us, outsideour own scouts."

A lean, parched sergeant, riding at his side, shook his head."You can't most always sometimes tell, sir," he volunteered.

From the base of the hills ahead came the crack of a rifle,putting a period to that paragraph. The officer grinned. To theright of the trail was a shallow gully. Into this he led his troop,still in column of fours.

"Prepare to dismount. Dismount! Number twos hold horses! Fall'em in, sergeant!" He gave commands quietly, coolly. The men obeyedwith alacrity. The point, three men riding in advance of the troop,having uncovered the enemy raced back to the shelter of the gully,the bullets of the hostiles pinging about their heads. Far to therear the pack train and two companies of infantry plodded throughthe dust.

Behind a rock that barely covered his prone figure from the eyesof the enemy, lay Shoz-Dijiji. Similarly sheltered, four otherpainted savages fired after the retreating point. One of them was awrinkled old subchief, a past-master of the art of Apache warfare.The five watched the dismounted cavalrymen deploy into the open,dropping behind bushes and boulders as they wormed their wayforward.

There was a burst of fire from the thin line that made theApaches duck behind their shelter; when they looked again it was tosee that the soldiers had advanced, fifty yards, perhaps, and againsought cover. The Indians fired rapidly to give the impression of alarger force than actually constituted this insignificant rearguard. The soldiers peppered away at the puffs of smoke thatsignaled the positions of the foe.

The sub-chief called across to Shoz-Dijiji and the two wormedthemselves back, turned to the left and sought new positions,holding their fire, waiting for the moment the old warrior knewwould come. Again the soldiers fired rapidly, half of themconcentrating their fire upon the rocks from behind which the puffsof smoke had arisen while the other half arose, and, bent halfdouble, raced forward to new and more advanced positions. It wasthen that the sub-chief and Shoz-Dijiji opened fire upon them fromtheir new positions that had not yet attracted the fire of thecavalrymen. The grizzled captain saw three of his men stumbleforward, their faces in the dirt. Afterward two of them crawledpainfully toward cover but the third lay very still.

Angry, the entire troop fired rapidly at the Indian position,until there was no response; then the second half of the troopadvanced in a quick rush. From another point, far to the right ofthat upon which they had been concentrating their fire, came thecrack of a rifle and another soldier fell.

Shoz-Dijiji reloaded and fired again. To his rear the sub-chiefwith the three other warriors was trotting back toward the mainbody of hostiles that was busily engaged in the construction ofsimple but effective fortifications under the supervision ofGeronimo.

The captain had lost four men and had not seen an Indian. He hadno definite idea of the strength of the enemy. He could not advancewithout exposing his men to the full fire of the hostiles. To hisleft was a dry wash that afforded complete protection, and intothis he ordered his troop, there to await the coming of theinfantry. Behind his rock, quite alone, Shoz-Dijiji held off theUnited States Army while the war chief of all the Apaches preparedfor a determined stand a mile to the south.

For an hour the cavalrymen sweltered and cursed in the dustybarranca. Occasionally one would lift a head above the shelteringwall, there would be a crack and the ping of a bullet and the headwould duck to safety—Shoz-Dijiji, patient, tireless,eagle-eyed, hung doggedly to his post.

Then the infantry arrived. Out of effective range they took tothe barranca, the pack train sheltering in the gully with thehorses of the troop. The cavalry, loath to relinquish the honor todoughboys, charged the position of the hostiles after the infantryhad poured a steady fusillade of rifle fire into it for severalminutes.

Hunched double that they might present the smallest possibletarget, grasping their carbines at the ready, separated byintervals of a yard or two, the men advanced at the double up thegentle, rock-strewn acclivity. Their grizzled captain led them. Adozen yards beyond the summit he raised his hand and the blue linehalted. The officer looked about him. For hundreds of yards in alldirections there was not sufficient cover to conceal a cottontail.There was not an Indian in sight.

A half mile to the south of him Shoz-Dijiji trotted toward thestronghold of his people, while the blue column reformed to resumethe heartbreaking pursuit of the elusive quarry. The Apache scouts,who had been sent out to the east and west the day before, returnedto the command, reporting signs of renegades at widely separatedpoints. A rancher and his family had been murdered at SulphurSprings, two cowboys had had a running fight with Apaches in SanSimon Valley, two men had been killed near Billings' ranch.

A lieutenant with six men and three scouts was sent ahead of thecolumn. Within a mile they were fired upon and driven back. Theinfantry deployed and advanced after a brief reconnaissance by thegrizzled captain. Geronimo had chosen a position impossible forcavalry, impregnable to infantry. His fortifications topped a lowbut steep hill, the summit of which was already boulder-strewn bynature. On three sides the hill overlooked open country thatafforded no shelter within the effective range of the weapons ofthat day, on the fourth side, behind him, rose rugged mountainsthat offered him a ready avenue of retreat. Within twenty miles tothe north there was no water for the soldiers or their mounts. Tenmiles to the south, upon the opposite side of the range, there wasplenty of water, but Geronimo sat astride the only trail short of afifty-mile-long detour around the end of the range.

The infantry advanced. Already that day they had marched twentymiles beneath a blistering sun from the last water. Their lips wereparched and blistered, their eyes, their nostrils, their throatswere choked with the stinging, impalpable dust of the alkalidesert. All day they had groused and cursed and bewailed the fatethat had sent them into "this man's army"; but that had been whilethey were plodding along in the shroud of dust that hungcontinually about them and with no sign of an enemy about.

Now it was different. All was changed. With the first shotfatigue slipped from them as easily as an old coat, they forgot thehardships and the thirst, they fretted to go as young thoroughbredsat the barrier. And they were young thoroughbreds—thesepicked men, hard as nails, the flower of the western army. No finerbody of men ever underwent crueler hardships in a more savagecountry, against a more savage and resourceful foe in any countryin the world, and none ever got fewer thanks.

On they went, up toward that silent, rock-bound hilltop. Therewas no cover; they were advancing to the charge. Geronimo waited.He knew that they would underestimate his strength, judging it bywhat they had developed at the last stand a mile to the north; andhe was right. He waited until the blue line was well within range,then he opened on them with all his rifles. A few men fell. Thecommand to charge was given and up the slope the soldiers raced,yelling. In twos and threes they fell beneath the withering fire ofthe hostiles. It was a useless sacrifice and the retreat wassounded.

Covered by the fire of the cavalry they withdrew and dugthemselves in three-fourths of the way down the slope—thosethat remained of them. Until dark they lay there, sniping, beingsniped at, the painted savages yelling taunts and insults at them.Their water was gone, their dead and wounded lay beneath thepitiless sun on the fire-swept slope.

A sergeant, beneath a hail of lead, brought in a woundedofficer. Twenty-five years later he was awarded a CongressionalMedal, which arrived in time to be pinned on his breast by anattendant at the poor house before he was buried in Potter'sField.

Under the protection of darkness they recovered their dead andthose of the wounded who had miraculously survived the determinedsniping of the Apaches. The officers held a council. What waterthere was left was distributed among the infantrymen. The cavalryand the pack train, bearing the wounded, started back across thoseweary, dusty miles for water. The dead they buried on the field. Atdawn the hostiles recommenced their sniping, though the infantryhad withdrawn to such a distance that only an occasional bulletfell among them. They did not know that now the entire forceopposing them consisted of but three warriors; that the others weremiles away to the south. All day they lay there without shelterwhile the Apaches fired at them at long range and at longintervals.

It was after dark before the cavalry returned. The hostile firehad ceased, but how could the soldiers know that the last of theenemy was miles away upon the southern trail. Geronimo hadaccomplished all that he had set out to accomplish. He had held upthe troops two full days and in that time the Be-don-ko-he, withthe exception of a few warriors, had crossed the boundary intoMexico and disappeared in the rugged mazes of the Mother Mountains;and he had done it without losing a man.

XI. — WAR CHIEF OF THEBE-DON-KO-HE

SHOZ-DIJIJI liked the new camp which lay inrugged, timbered mountains south of the town of Casas Grandes, inthe state of Chihuahua. There was water there and game and thehated soldiers of the pindah lickoyee could not follow. When theyhad settled down to the routine of camp life he would tie Nejeuneebefore the tepee of Ish-kay-nay. Just now, with several otherbraves, he was hunting, for the long march from the north haddepleted the stores of the Be-don-ko-he.

For three days the chase continued, covering mountains andplain, and during that time the hunters brought in a variety andabundance of red meats. In many a pot boiled savory stews ofvenison, antelope, beef or mule, the sweet aroma of cooking foodmingling with the scent of the pine forest in the pure air of thehigh sierras, while below in the plain many a frightened peonhuddled his family about him behind the barred door of his adobeshack the while he mourned the loss of his live stock.

Their bellies filled, peace hovering about them, elated by theirvictory over the soldiers of the white-eyes, the Be-don-ko-herested in camp. The warriors smoked and gambled, the women workedand gossiped, the children played. Upon distant look-outs sentinelsscanned the country for the first sign of an approaching enemy.

The Be-don-ko-he felt secure. But a chain is as strong only asits weakest link. Perhaps a sentinel was shirking; perhaps therewere other Indians who knew the Mother Mountains better than theBe-don-ko-he knew them. How else might be explained the long fileof armed men creeping upward through a narrow, timbered defiletoward the camp of the Apaches? Twenty-four of them were Mexicanregulars and with them were forty Indian allies, hereditary enemiesof the Be-don-ko-he.

Geronimo sat before a rude brush shelter, smoking, whileSons-ee-ah-ray ground maize in a metate. Ish-kay-nay, sewing beadsto the yoke of a buckskin shirt, worked industriously at her side,while Shoz-Dijiji, squatting in the circle, watched the girl'snimble fingers and beautiful face. Several children played about,sometimes listening to the talk of their elders. At a littledistance, her back toward them, sat Geronimo's mother-in-law. Shetook no part in the conversation, never addressed any of them andwas never addressed by them, and when necessary to refer to hersigns were invariably employed. Notwithstanding the fact thatGeronimo was very fond of her he might never speak toher—thus are primitive peoples slaves to custom, even aswe.

Shoz-Dijiji was narrating again his encounter with the threewhite men and the white girl near Billings' ranch.

"Why," asked Geronimo, "did you not kill the white-eyed girl? Itwas not wise to let her go back to her people and say that she hadseen an Apache in war paint."

"Is that why you did not kill her?" There was a note of jealousyin the girl's voice. She could be jealous of a white woman.

"Then you cannot successfully fight the white-eyes," growled oldGeronimo, "for they make war on women and children. If you lettheir women live they will breed more white warriors to fightagainst your people. They know—that is the reason they killour women and our children.

"Listen! The soldiers attack our camps, killing our women andour children. They do this today. They have done it always. Listento the words of Geronimo of the story of Santa Rita, that hisfather's father had from his father's father. A hundred rains havecome and gone and yet the blood is not washed away from the memoryof the Shis-Inday or from the hands of the pindah lickoyee.

"A hundred times have the deer mated; a hundred harvests havebeen gathered since that day. The Mexicans worked the mines ofSanta Rita near the headwaters of the Rio Mimbres in those days,and their chief was a pindah lickoyee named Johnson. His heart wasbad, but he hid it beneath soft words. He called our chiefs andtold them that he was going to give a great feast, asking them tosend word to their people.

"Happy, the chiefs dispatched their runners to the scatteredcamps and villages of the Shis-Inday summoning the people toassemble at the mines on the appointed day. From all directionsthey came, bringing their women and their children until a thousandApaches gathered about the barbecue pits of the pindahlickoyee.

"Less than a hundred yards away lay a pile of pack saddles. Theylooked quite harmless. How were our chiefs to know that hiddenbeneath them was a cannon, loaded to the muzzle with slugs, musketballs, with nails and pieces of glass? They did not know. Thepindah lickoyee lighted the fuse himself. There was a loud noiseand several hundred Apache men, women and children lay dead, ormaimed and wounded. Then the Mexicans charged us.

"Four hundred were killed. What could our people do? They hadcome in friendship and peace, leaving their weapons behind. Thosewho could scattered and escaped.

"Now the pindah lickoyee tell us that it is wicked to kill womenand children. They mean that it is wicked to kill the women andchildren of the lickoyee. It is all right to kill the women andchildren of the Shis-Inday. But we do not forget. You must notforget. Kill them, that they may not breed warriors to kill yourwomen and children."

"I will kill their warriors," replied Shoz-Dijiji, quietly. "Letthe women and the old men kill their women."

Geronimo shook his head. "Wait," he said, "until they havekilled your women; then you will have the right to speak."

A volley of rifle fire brought a sudden end to the conversation.Bullets pinged and whistled among the trees. War whoopsreverberated among the lofty peaks. The Be-don-ko-he, takenentirely by surprise, scattered like rabbits, the warriors seizingtheir weapons as they fled. Two fell before they could gaincover.

Geronimo rallied his force and led it forward. Taking advantageof trees and rocks the Apaches advanced against the enemy's line.Shoz-Dijiji fought beside his fierce sire. The war chief led hiswarriors to within ten yards of the Mexicans and their allies andthen, at his command, they stepped into the open from behind rocksand trees and fired point-blank at the foe. At places the linestouched and men fought hand to hand. Geronimo struck down a Mexicanwith his clubbed rifle, but another sprang upon him with up-raisedknife before he could recover himself after delivering the blow. AnIndian raised his rifle to the level of Shoz-Dijiji's breast, themuzzle but a few inches away.

It was the proximity of the weapon that saved the son of the warchief from death. With his left forearm he struck up the rifle,grasped it, wrenched it from the grasp of his adversary, and,swinging it behind him, brought it down upon the other's skull;then he wheeled and leaped upon the back of the Mexican who waslunging at Geronimo's breast with his long hunting knife.

A sinewy arm encircled the fellow's neck and he was torn fromhis prey, whirled about and thrown to the ground. Before he couldrecover himself a hundred and seventy pounds of steel and iron fellsavagely upon him, his knife was wrested from his grasp and heshrieked once as his own blade was buried deep in his heart.

Shoz-Dijiji sprang to his feet, saw the opening that had beenmade in the enemy's line, saw Gian-nah-tah and another fightingnear him, called them and broke through to the rear of the foe.Like a red demon he fell upon the Mexicans and their henchmen; hissavage war whoops rose above the din of battle as with the clubbedrifle of an enemy he mowed them down, while the very ferocity ofhis expression appeared to hold them in a spell of awfulfascination.

At last, splattered with the blood and brains of hisadversaries, the Black Bear paused. Erect in the midst of thecarnage he had wrought he stood like some avenging angel, hisfierce eyes casting about for more to slay. There were no more. Tothe last man the enemy lay dead upon the field, dead or mortallywounded. Already the squaws were moving among them, Shoz-Dijijithought of the dying women, the mangled children at the coppermines of Santa Rita, and the screams of the tortured brought noanswering pity to his heart.

Some warriors gathered about him. He suddenly became aware thatthey were calling his name aloud; they were acclaiming him. It wasunusual, for more often does the Apache boast of his own exploitsthan those of another; but there could be no mistaking. Geronimocame and laid a hand upon his shoulder. "The warriors of theBe-don-ko-he have chosen Shoz-Dijiji as a war chief," he said, "andthey have chosen well."

Then the Black Bear understood. It had come! He thrilled, aswhat red-blooded man would not thrill to be chosen a war chief bysuch warriors as these! He had known that it would come—hehad dreamed that it was his destiny. This was the first step and ithad come years before he had hoped to achieve it. Shoz-Dijiji wasvery proud, but he was not half as proud as terrible old Geronimo,or as little Ish-kay-nay.

That night moans and wails mingled with the exultations of thevictorious tribe, for twelve warriors had fallen in the battle. Atthe council Shoz-Dijiji's elevation to the rank of war chief wasconfirmed amidst flights of oratory, and Gian-nah-tah was admittedto the warrior class in recognition of his bravery upon the fieldof battle.

Their dead buried, the loot gathered from the bodies of theslain foemen, the tribe packed its belongings and set out from thiscamp, which they called Sko-la-ta, toward the northeast. Throughthe lofty mountains they made their way, and when they came outdown into Sonora they were joined by Juh and a band of Ned-ni. Thetwo tribes decided to go to the town of Nacosari and trade with theMexicans.

On an open plain near Nacosari the Apaches were surprised bythree companies of Mexican troops, but, after the manner of Apacheswhen they do not wish to give battle, they scattered in alldirections and, firing as they rode away, eluded concerted pursuit.When they had out-distanced the troops they reassembled in theSierra Madre and held a council. Juh reported having seen Mexicantroops at several points and Geronimo well knew that they had beendispatched against him in Chihuahua. It was therefore decided todisband as it would be impossible to maintain a large camp securefrom detection while an active campaign was in force againstthem.

Scattering into single families or small groups of unmarriedwarriors, they spread out through the mountains of Chihuahua,Sonora, New Mexico and Arizona to await the withdrawal of thetroops. For four months they lived by hunting and trading, enteringvillages as friendly Indians, always careful to commit nodepredations, that the fears of the enemy might be lulled intofancied security.

Shoz-Dijiji, happiest when farthest from the haunts of whites,spent all his time hunting in the depth of the mountains. He wasmuch alone, and many were the long nights he spent in some rugged,granite eerie praying to Usen and making strong medicine againstfuture days of war. He dreamed always of war or of Ish-kay-nay orof the goal of his ambition—to be war chief of all theApaches. The next step, as he planned it, was to become head warchief of the Be-don-ko-he, after Geronimo became too old to leadthe tribe in battle, and after that he would win to the finalgoal.

Occasionally he saw Mexicans in the mountains, and it amused himto wonder what their reaction would be could they guess that a warchief of the Apaches was lying behind a rock or bush above themlooking down upon them; but not one of them ever guessed that suchpotential death lurked thus close.

On several occasions he ventured down upon the plains afterantelope. On one of these excursions he had approached a haciendabelonging to a very rich Mexican who owned a herd of horses thatwas famed throughout all of Mexico, and of which the owner wasjustly proud. Shoz-Dijiji often watched this herd from a distanceas it grazed under the watchful eyes of numerous well-armedvaqueros. It interested him to note the care that was exercised byday and by night to protect the herd against theft; it pleased hisvanity to guess that these precautions were directed by fear of hispeople.

He saw the herd rounded up each afternoon and driven within awalled enclosure, protected by heavy gates; and after dark he camedown and prowled about until he was familiar with the surroundingsof the hacienda and the habits of its dwellers. He knew when andwhere they ate and slept, and the hour that the horses were turnedout each morning. These things he did not learn in a single visit,but after many visits. He did not know that he might ever put thisknowledge to use, but, Apache-like, it suited him to know more ofthe enemy than the enemy guessed.

In the mountains he had occasionally come upon woodchoppers atwork, and when he heard the sounds of their axes he came andwatched them, though they never knew that they were watched. Heknew where they came to cut wood; he knew the habits of every oneof them; he could recognize their faces; he knew how many burroseach owned. He knew where they lived and where they took theirwood. Whenever it suited him he could kill them—that thoughtgave him pleasure—but Geronimo had warned them all againstdepredations of all kinds until the enemy had recovered from theeffects of the last raid.

There was one woodchopper who always came alone. He had fiveburros. All day long he would chop, chop, chop. In the evening hewould cook a few beans, smoke a cigarette, roll up in his blanketand sleep until morning. In the morning he would roll a cigarette,cook a few beans, roll another cigarette, load his five burros andstart down the trail toward Casas Grandes. Every tenth dayShoz-Dijiji could expect to hear his axe ringing in the forest.

He knew him and his habits so well that he no longer took thetrouble to spy upon him. But one day the chopping ceased shortlyafter it had commenced and there followed a long silence.Shoz-Dijiji was several miles away hunting with bow and arrows. Hadthe chopping continued all day Shoz-Dijiji would not have given thewoodchopper a second thought; but to the suspicious mind of theApache the silence was ominous. It spoke of a change in the habitsof the woodchopper—it augured something new, an alteredcondition that must be investigated.

Shoz-Dijiji moved quickly but warily among the trees and rocksalong the shoulder of a mountain to the point from which he hadoften watched the woodman in his camp. Looking down he saw the fiveburros, but at first he saw no woodchopper.

What was that? The Apache cocked an attentive ear. The sound wasrepeated—a low moan coming up out of the canyon. It was thenthat Shoz-Dijiji saw a human foot protruding from beneath a felledtree, revealing the lonely tragedy below. He listened intently forseveral minutes until every sense assured him that there were noother men about, then he descended to the camp, walked around thetree and looked down at the woodchopper.

The Mexican, lying upon his belly, saw the moccasined feet firstand guessed the worst, for the moccasins of no two tribes areidentical. Turning his head painfully his eyes moved slowly upwardto the savage face. With a moan of hopelessness he dropped his headto the ground and commenced to pray. Realizing that not even Godcould save him from death at the hands of this Apache, he concernedhimself only with matters pertaining to the salvation of hisimmortal soul and to be on the safe side he prayed not only to thegods of his conquerors, but to strange, heathen gods aswell—gods whose names were old before Nazareth.

Shoz-Dijiji saw that a not over-large tree had fallen upon thewoodchopper, pinioning him in such a way that he could not releasehimself. He also guessed that the man was injured. Laying hold ofthe tree the Apache, already a giant in strength, raised it easilyfrom the prostrate form and dragged it to one side. Then heapproached the Mexican and with quick, sensitive fingers examinedhis body and limbs. One leg was broken. Otherwise the man was notseriously hurt. However the broken leg would have proved fatal werehelp not forthcoming.

The Apache cut away the trouser leg from the injured member, andtore the cloth into strips. He fashioned splints from twigs andsmall branches, and while his victim screamed he set the brokenbones, adjusted the splints, bound them in place with the strips hehad torn from the man's trousers.

By this time the Mexican was almost convinced against his betterjudgment that the Apache did not intend killing him. It was quiteinexplicable, but it seemed a fact, and he waxed eloquent in hisgratitude; but to all that he said Shoz-Dijiji returned but onereply: "No savvy," albeit he perfectly understood.

He built a soft bed of pine branches and threw up a rude shelterof boughs above the injured man. After that he filled the Mexican'swater bottle, placed it beside him and went away as silently as hehad come, leaving his hereditary enemy still only half convincedthat it was not all part of a diabolical plot to save him forfuture torture.

Why was it that the Apache did not kill this helpless Mexican?Perhaps he was moved by sentiments of compassion and brotherlylove. Far from it. The war chief of all the Apaches had warned themnot to kill, that the fears and anger of the foe might be allayed,and that, thus lulled into the lethargy of false peace, they mightbecome easier prey upon the occasion of some future raid.

Shoz-Dijiji hated the Mexican with all the bitterness of hissavage nature, but he saw here an opportunity to carry Geronimo'sstrategy a step further than the wily old chieftain had instructed,and by playing the good Samaritan to impress upon this Mexican andall to whom he should have an opportunity to narrate his adventurethat the Apaches not only were not upon the warpath, but werethoroughly friendly.

Just before dark Shoz-Dijiji returned with fresh venison whichhe cooked and fed to the woodchopper; then he lifted him to theback of one of the burros, unmoved by the screams of agony thisnecessary handling produced, and, followed by the remaininganimals, started down the trail toward the valley, leading thebeast upon which the moaning man rode. At times Shoz-Dijiji had tosupport the Mexican to keep him from falling from his mount, butwith infinite patience he pursued the course that he had laidout.

It was dawn when they came to the edge of the village of CasasGrandes. Without a word Shoz-Dijiji dropped the lead rope, turned,and trotted back toward the mountains. When the woodchopper reachedhis own home and told the story his wife would scarce believe him.Later when the news spread even the chiefs of the village came andquestioned him, and a few days later when there were some friendlyIndians trading in the town the chiefs spoke to them about thisthing and told them that the people of Casas Grandes would like tobe friends with the Apaches, but they did not know how to get wordto Geronimo.

As it happened these "friendly" Indians were Be-don-ko-he, sothe word came promptly to the old chief with the result that amessage reached the chiefs of the village of Casas Grandes statingthat the Apaches would like to make a treaty of peace with theMexicans, and runners went out from the camp of Geronimo and theword was carried among the scattered bands. By ones and twos andthrees they came from all directions to the appointed place in themountains above Casas Grandes, and when the day of the treatymaking arrived they moved down to the village. Nervous, the chiefmen met them; nervous, the villagers looked on askance, for thefear of the Apache was as inherent in them as their fear of thedevil.

They sat in solemn council, the Mexicans and the Apaches, andthere was much talk and hand shaking, during which they allpromised to be brothers and fight no more. Afterward they commencedto trade and the Mexicans offered mescal to their guests with afree and generous hand. This innocent looking, but iniquitousbeverage is more potent than bullets and it was not long beforenearly all the warriors of the Apaches were helpless. It was thenthat two companies of Mexican troops entered the town and attackedthem.

Shoz-Dijiji, asleep behind a corner of an adobe wall, knewnothing of all this until he recovered consciousness the followingmorning and discovered that he was a prisoner and that twenty ofhis fellow warriors had been killed in the slaughter of theprevious day. He also learned that the women and children of theBe-don-ko-he, who had been taken prisoner, were to be kept asslaves, while he and the other braves were to be shot.

The prisoners were herded together in a corral, surrounded byguards, and the towns-people came and stared at them, or spit uponthem, or threw stones at them; the same people with whom they hadshaken hands the preceding day. Silent, stoical the Apaches tooktaunts, insults and hurts without a change of countenance.

Among the other townspeople was a man on crutches, who wasaccompanied by his wife and several small children. Shoz-Dijijirecognized him immediately as the woodchopper whose life he hadsaved, but he made no effort to attract the man's attention. Whatgood would it do? Shoz-Dijiji neither sought nor expected favorsfrom the enemy. Gratitude was a quality which he sensed butvaguely, and in his mind it always was confused with self-interest.He could not see how the Mexican might profit by befriendinghim—therefore there was little likelihood of his doingso.

The woodchopper surveyed the Indians casually. There was nothingremarkable about them except that they were prisoners. It was notoften that the Mexicans had Apache prisoners. Presently his eyesalighted upon Shoz-Dijiji. Instant recognition was apparent inthem. He nudged his wife and pointed, speaking excitedly.

"There is the Indian who saved my life," he exclaimed, andpressing close to the bars of the corral he sought to attract theattention of the tall brave, standing with folded arms, lookingcontemptuously at the crowd without.

Shoz-Dijiji nodded and one of his rare smiles answered thesmiling greeting of the Mexican.

"What you doing here?" demanded the latter. "You are a friendlyIndian. They have made a mistake. You should tell them. I will tellthem."

"Yes," said the woodchopper, and then he told the officer hisstory. "Let him go, captain," he begged, "for he is a very goodIndian. He could have killed and robbed me and no one would haveknown; but instead he fed and brought me home. I do not believethat he is an Apache."

"I cannot release him," he said, then. "He is to be shot in themorning when the general comes, he and all the other grown men; butit is crowded in this corral and I am afraid with so many prisonersand so few men to guard them that many will escape. Therefore youmay take this one and guard him in your own house until morning. Ifhe escapes it will not be my fault."

"Thank you! Thank you!" exclaimed the woodchopper; "and may theMother of God Bless you."

Shoz-Dijiji heard and understood. He was to live! But not by somuch as the quiver of an eyelid did he reveal his understanding. Hestood impassive while they bound his hands behind him and placed arope about his neck, and he followed, though not meekly, but withhaughty mien, as the woodchopper led him away, the wife and theseveral small children following proudly behind.

XII. — THE SCALP DANCE

DARKNESS had fallen, but the night was still youngwhen a fire appeared upon the summit of a lonely hill above thevillage of Casas Grandes. It burned steadily hour after hour,tended by a single, silent figure. Into the hills about and outacross the valley it signalled to the scattered braves, and throughthe silence and the darkness of the night shadowy forms,soft-footed, mysterious, converged toward the shining beacon.

As Shoz-Dijiji kept the signal fire he thought upon the eventsof the day and he was puzzled. He could not understand why theMexican had interceded for him, taken him to his home, fed him,and, after dark, turned him loose without any slightest expectationof reward, not even a remote hope of reward. And for the first timein his life, perhaps, there was forced into his consciousnessrecognition of a quality of the soul of the very existence of whichhe had hitherto been ignorant—unselfish gratitude.

The Black Bear was a highly intelligent, reasoning human beingand so, as he thought the matter out during the long hours of thenight, he came to the conclusion that the only motive thewoodchopper could have had was prompted by a desire to repayShoz-Dijiji for his kindness with a like kindness.

Such an attitude of mind directed upon an enemy was at firstquite beyond the experience of one Apache-bred and for this reasondifficult to grasp fully; but when the facts finally convinced himthey induced a certain warmth within his breast that was new andstrange. He thought now of the Mexican woodchopper as a brother. Hewould repay him. If necessary he would lay down his life for him,for to such extremes does the pendulum of the savage heart swing,and none may guess the depth of feeling masked by the trainedmuscles of the savage Apache face.

Four times from the valley below a coyote yelped and thereveries of Shoz-Dijiji were broken. With four similar yelps hereplied. An owl hooted down from the hills behind him; from thenorth came the scream of a bobcat. And each in turn was answeredfrom the signal fire.

A shadowy form appeared but Shoz-Dijiji was hidden behind abush. A whispered word was spoken—a sacred, secretword—and Shoz-Dijiji arose and came forward, greeting asquat, great-chested Be-don-ko-he. One by one, then, they came inabout the signal fire—two, three, five, ten—until atlast a dozen warriors were gathered.

Shoz-Dijiji picked up some loose stones and arranged them in aline pointing toward the village of Casas Grandes. He leaned themone against another with the sides that had been down, and weremarked by contact with the earth, turned upward; that any who mightarrive later could read plainly that he who had laid the signalneeded assistance in the direction of Casas Grandes. He placed morefuel upon the fire and withdrew to a little distance, followed bythe other warriors. There were older warriors and sub-chiefs amongthem, but they came and listened to Shoz-Dijiji; and when he hadfinished speaking they signified their willingness to follow him,for not only was he a war chief among them, but he had conceivedthe plan that he had just explained to them and was thereforeentitled to lead whoever agreed to accompany him.

The village of Casas Grandes slept, perhaps a less troubledsleep than it had enjoyed for many a long month, for had not thefeared Apaches of the north been routed, had not many of them beenkilled and many taken prisoner? No wonder the village of CasasGrandes slept in peace as the barefooted soldiers of the guardpaced their posts about the prison corral of the Apaches, as adozen silent forms crept down out of the hills, slinking into theshadows of the little buildings of Casas Grandes, as el generalrode swiftly from the south to witness the execution at the comingdawn.

From hidden places about the corral a dozen pairs of savage eyeswatched the sleepy sentries pacing to and fro, watched the buildingthat the soldiers were quartered in, waited for the signal fromShoz-Dijiji. At last it came—a figure rushing through thedark, a figure that threw itself upon the nearest sentry with thesavage ferocity of a wounded jaguar, wrenching the rifle fromastonished hands, striking down the poor peon with brutal savagery.At last Shoz-Dijiji was armed again!

This was the signal! From all sides other men, terrible men,leaped upon the sentinels; but not until the shouts of the Mexicanshad alarmed the soldiers in their barracks did the attackers uttera sound, for such had been the orders of Shoz-Dijiji. As the firstof the guard turned out they were met by the savage war whoops ofthe Apaches and a volley of rifle fire that sent them stumblinginto momentary retreat. A few braves, detailed by the war chief,leaped into the corral and cut the bonds of the captives. Therewere a few scattering volleys directed toward the barracks and thensilence, as, like the smoke from their own black powder, theBe-don-ko-he merged with the darkness of the night.

Scattering again, the better to throw pursuers off the track,the Apaches were far away from Casas Grandes by morning; and thoughel general pursued them he lost their trail within two miles of thevillage, nor ever picked it up again.

It was a long time before the Be-don-ko-he gathered again in thedepths of their beloved Arizona mountains and Shoz-Dijiji sat oncemore in the cool of the evening at the side of Ish-kay-nay. He wasa great warrior now and as he recounted his exploits upon the wartrail the girl thrilled with pride.

"Not tomorrow," she reminded him, "for tomorrow the izze-nantanspurify the warriors who have been upon the war trail andShoz-Dijiji must ride no other pony then than Nejeunee, his warpony; and Ish-nay-kay will feed no other pony than Nejeunee, thewar pony of Shoz-Dijiji."

"The next day," repeated the girl and rubbed her soft cheekagainst his shoulder caressingly.

The following morning the warriors, wearing their finest raiment,their faces painted with the utmost care, mounted upon theirfavorite war ponies, assembled below the camp at the edge of theriver. Nakay-do-klunni was there with his medicine shirt gorgeouswith symbolic paintings, his plumed medicine head-dress, his sashand izze-kloth, ready to make big medicine.

Along the bank of the river, knee to knee, the braves sat theirponies, resplendent with beads and feathers, turquois, silver andpainted buckskin. A proud, fierce gathering it was—thesesavage warriors come to be cleansed of the blood of theirfoemen.

The izze-nantan waded into the river, cast hoddentin to the fourwinds, made symbolic passes with his hands, the while he intonedmystic, sacred phrases in a jargon of meaningless gibberish. Thenhe came forth from the water out upon the bank, impressive,majestic. Going to the warrior at the right of the line he took aweapon from him and returning to the river washed it, dried it, andblew upon it, blowing the ghost of the dead enemy from it.

One after another he repeated this rite for each warrior andthen from a buckskin bag at his side he withdrew a few scalps,taken and preserved for this ceremony, which should by ancientcustom have been held upon the site of the battle field. Plucking afew hairs from each grisly memento he handed some to each of thewarriors all along the line, and while he stood with outstretchedhands upraised, mumbling his sacred jargon, each warrior burned thehairs that had been given him, thus purifying forever the taintedair of the battle field which otherwise it would be unsafe torevisit, peopled as it would have been by the malign ghosts of thedead enemy.

Ish-kay-nay stood before the tepee of her father as klego-na-ayrose behind a stunted cedar, a swollen disc of orange flamefloating upward out of the mysterious country that lay below theedge of Apacheland.

"Gun-ju-le, klego-na-ay!" sighed the voices of the Be-don-ko-hewomen, evening zephyrs sighing through the fragrant cedars.

Little fires crackled merrily, dancing red and orange, shootingsudden tongues of blue, gold-tipped, lighting copper faces old andwrinkled, young and smooth, faces stern and terrible, faces lightand laughing; glinting from proud eyes, haughty eyes, cruel eyes,cunning eyes, laughing eyes, beautiful eyes, the eyes of allApachedom, the eyes of all the world. Laughter, gossip mingled withthe crackling of the flames. Little children played pranks upon oneanother, upon the dogs, upon their elders, unrebuked, and the fullmoon mounted the clear Apache sky to gaze down, content, upon thisliving poem of peace and love.

Rising gradually above the confused murmur of the camp themeasured voice of the es-a-da-ded arose, insistent. A young brave,gay in the panoply of war, stepped into the firelight dancing tothe music of the drum. Naked he was, but for a G-string andmoccasins, his god-like body green with copper ore, his face bandedwith yellow ochre, vermilion, blue; upon his head a war bonnet ofeagle feathers; in his hand he bore a lance, a quartz-tipped lanceto the point of which was tied something that fluttered as the tipmoved—human hair. Shoz-Dijiji bore aloft a trophy in thescalp dance of his people.

Behind him came other braves, painted braves; singing, yellingbraves, shouting the savage war whoop that has carried terror downthe ages, out of the north, across a world. Grisly tassels wavedfrom many a point. Rifles cracked. Admiring squaws looked on.Ish-kay-nay was among them, her great, dark eyes clinging ever tothe mighty figure of her lover.

Weaving in and out among the fires the warriors danced, yelling,until they were upon the verge of exhaustion; but at last it wasover—the last scalp had been discarded, a vile thing that noApache would retain. The camp slept. In far places the scoutswatched, guarding against attack. Shoz-Dijiji came among the bankedfires, leading Nejeunee. To the tepee of Ish-kay-nay he led him andthere he tied him and went away.

In the morning, when Ish-kay-nay arose she looked out andsmiled; but she did not come forth until the camp was stirring andthere were many about to see her. Others looked at the pinto ponytied there before the tepee, and smiled, too.

At last came Ish-kay-nay, with the carriage of a queen, the stepof a panther. She did not hesitate, but taking the rope that heldhim she led Nejeunee, the war pony of Shoz-Dijiji, to water, andthen she fed him. Everyone saw, but there was none that laughedbehind his blanket at Ish-kay-nay, or thought her immodest; forthere was but one Ish-kay-nay and she could do no wrong, she whoall her life had done as she pleased, haughtily indifferent aliketo censure or to praise.

There was one wrinkled old warrior who saw, but did not smile.He was the father of Ish-kay-nay. Much would he have preferred Juh,powerful chief of the Ned-ni, as son-in-law; nor as yet was hopedead within him. Later in the day Shoz-Dijiji sought him out,making formal request for the hand of Ish-kay-nay. The old manlistened in silence and when Shoz-Dijiji had finished he spoke.

"Ish-kay-nay is a good daughter," he said. "She is strong andcan do a good day's work in the fields; there is none who makesbetter shirts and moccasins; there is none whose bead work is morebeautiful; nor any who can prepare food as can Ish-kay-nay. I amgrowing old. Her loss will be as the loss of my heart. Fifty ponieswill not be enough to repay me."

Fifty ponies! Many a daughter of the greatest chiefs there waswho had commanded far less. Shoz-Dijiji knew why the price was thushigh. The old man believed that it would be so long beforeShoz-Dijiji could hope to accumulate that many ponies that he wouldrelinquish his suit and content himself with some other girl whoseprice was much less; but he did not know the depth of the love thatwelled in the heart of the son of Geronimo.

Ish-kay-nay laughed. "Fifty ponies! Why not onehundred—two hundred? Now he will have none, Shoz-Dijiji, forI, Ish-kay-nay, will run away with you."

"No," said the young man. "Shoz-Dijiji has told you before thathe does not have to run away with any woman. Shoz-Dijiji is a man;he is a great warrior, a war chief of the Be-don-ko-he; he has ledthe warriors of his people in battle. Does such a one runaway?"

"Shoz-Dijiji does not love Ish-kay-nay," said the girl. "Heknows that it will be many, many rains before he can pay fiftyponies to her father. If he loved her he would not want towait."

"It is because he loves her that he will not make her ashamedbefore the eyes of our people," replied Shoz-Dijiji. "Do not fear,Ish-kay-nay. Before the next full moon Shoz-Dijiji will have theponies."

"Shoz-Dijiji knows. This very day he goes after them. If he doesnot return before the moon is full again you will know that he isdead. Good-bye, Ish-kay-nay." He drew the girl close to him.

An hour later Ish-kay-nay, standing forlorn upon a rockypromontory, her fringed robe of buckskin fluttering in the breeze,watched a solitary horseman riding toward the south. Her heart wasfull, but no tear wet her cheek.

Darkness was falling as Nejeunee picked his way across the rockyshoulder of a mountain, a round stone turned beneath his foot, hestumbled and went almost down. When he regained his footing helimped.

Shoz-Dijiji slid from his back and examined the foot and leg,then he remounted and rode on, but more and more did the bravelittle war pony favor the hurt member. Again Shoz-Dijiji dismountedand felt the tendons of the pastern; there was a swelling there andfever. The Apache arose and slipped the bridle and the blanket fromhis mount.

"Good-bye, Nejeunee," he said, stroking the pinto's neck. Thenhe continued on his way alone.

Nejeunee tried to follow, but the leg pained and he stopped.Once he nickered, but Shoz-Dijiji returned no answering whistle.Perplexed, the pinto, limping painfully, hobbled along the roughmountainside after his master. For a mile, perhaps, he followedthrough the darkness, but at last he stopped, for he could nolonger either see or hear Shoz-Dijiji, and the night wind, blowingacross the trail, carried the scent spoor away from him. The risingmoon looked down upon a little pinto stallion gazing withup-pricked ears toward the south—wistful ears.

On through the night went the Black Bear, down the mountains andacross a valley into other mountains. There was no trail where theBlack Bear trod; but there were the stars and many familiarlandmarks and an uncanny sense that held him to the true course.Hidden deep in these mountains, a parched and barren range, was alarge, flat rock, its center hollowed into a basin by some longdead waterfall of antiquity. It lay near the head of a deep andnarrow ravine, hidden by a dense thicket.

For a long time it held the rain waters, and for many fiery,dust-choked miles there was no other water. Toward this spotShoz-Dijiji made his way, as unerringly as the homing pigeonreturns to its cote. No other than Apache eyes ever had looked uponthis place. A man might die of thirst within twenty feet of it,never guessing that life was just within his grasp.

It was daylight when Shoz-Dijiji came to the water hole. Here,hidden in the dense thicket, he rested, lying up like a savage,hunted beast. Nor is the analogy overdrawn. Further back than goesthe memory of man the Apache has been fair prey for his enemies andthere has been no closed season. As the wolf, the deer, or the bearhe has moved ever in danger of the swift arrow of Navajo orComanche, of the bullet of the white man. He did not complain. Itwas a life he understood and loved. It was as fair for him as itwas for his enemies, and he prided in the fact that he played itbetter than they.

Shoz-Dijiji rested but a short time as he wished to push ontoward the south, lying up at another place he knew during the heatof the day, timing his marches that he might pass habitations andcross open plains by night, keeping to the mountains in thedaylight hours. He carried little food and only a small waterbottle, for he could live for months on end upon a country thatwhite men considered waterless and without game. He was armed witha bow and arrows, a knife and a six-shooter.

Upon an excursion of this nature, the success of which dependedmore upon the agility of his wits than the strength of hisarmament, he considered a heavy rifle a handicap, and so he hadhidden his in a safe cache in the mountains above the Be-don-ko-hecamp before he had set out upon his mission.

His water bottle refilled, his own thirst quenched, Shoz-Dijijiclambered up the side of the ravine out of the thicket. Perhaps hewas careless; perhaps the wind blew in the wrong direction. Howeverit may have been, the fact remains that the first intimation he hadthat he was not alone in these arid, deathlike hills was the crackof a rifle and the whistling whing of a rifle ball past his headjust as he attained the summit of the rise.

Shoz-Dijiji dropped in his tracks, his body rolling down thesteep declivity. Two white men threw themselves flat upon aparallel ridge.

They waited for half an hour, watching, listening. From beyondthe summit of the ridge they watched there was no sign of life.Behind and slightly above them, upon the main ridge of themountain, a man lay hid behind a squat shrub, watching them. It wasShoz-Dijiji.

He wished that he had his rifle, for the two lay just out ofarrow range and he was a poor shot with a Colt. There was somethingfamiliar about one of the men and Shoz-Dijiji wished that he wouldturn his face that he might have a good look at it, for Shoz-Dijijinever forgot a face, once seen. At last the man did turn. Then itwas that the Black Bear recognized him as the survivor of the threewho had attacked the white girl near the Billings ranch. Now, morethan ever, Shoz-Dijiji wished that he had his rifle. He weighed thewisdom of a revolver shot and put the idea from him. Apachelike hecould bide his time against a more favorable opportunity. To fireand miss would be but to disclose his position to the enemy,gaining him nothing, and perhaps causing him still furtherdelay.

He had learned all that he needed to know of these two. Theywere alone, hunting the yellow iron, doubtless. They had not beenfollowing him, but had just chanced upon him. If he did not firethey might lie there a long time waiting and watching, not quitesure that they had killed him, not quite sure that he was notalone. In the meantime Shoz-Dijiji might be far on his way towardthe south. Cautiously he slipped down upon the far side of theridge, well out of their range of vision, rose, turned his facesouthward and moved silently away, leaving the two prospectorsdebating the wisdom of a reconnaissance.

A half hour later Shoz-Dijiji came upon their camp. A bankedcamp fire smoked slightly, some burros, hobbled, stood near by.Shoz-Dijiji paused and brushed the ashes from the fire, then hepiled all their belongings quickly upon the coals; he burst thecontainers in which they had their precious water. This done, hetook the hobbles from the burros and drove them ahead of him downthe canyon toward the south. Only a short way did he drive them forhe well knew that they would need no urging to leave this barrencountry and search for feed and water.

Continuing his interrupted journey Shoz-Dijiji permitted himselfthe indulgence of a smile as he considered the plight of thewhite-eyes. Strangely, perhaps, there was no rancor in his heartagainst them for having tried to take his life. That was only apart of the game he played, the life-long, savage game of hissavage world, the greatest game the world has everknown—man-hunting. He would have done the same as they had anopportunity presented; but he was more patient than they—hecould wait until there was no chance of his shot missing.

XIII. — "SHOZ-DIJIJI ISDEAD!"

SEVERAL days later Shoz-Dijiji found himselfwithout food or water upon a rough and arid upland dotted withgreasewood and sage and an occasional clump of mesquite along therim of a dry wash. It was fifty miles to a little spring he knewof, and no water had passed his lips for many hours, nor any food;but Shoz-Dijiji was not dismayed. What to us would have meantalmost certain death, gave the Apache no concern.

Following the bed of the wash he came near sundown to a placewhere the mesquite grew thick upon the bank. Here he stopped anddug a hole down through the sand, into moisture, then deeper,making a small basin, into which water filtered very slowly. Whilethe basin filled he occupied himself. Finding a stout mesquitestick he hunted about until he had discovered a pile of twigs andleaves and earth, heaped in seeming disorder among the stems of alarge bush. With his stick he beat and belabored the pile.Frightened, hurt, several pack rats emerged, bewildered. These hestruck with his club, collecting four; then he returned to the holehe had dug in the sand. Now it contained a cupful of water. Withhis drinking reed he drew the liquid into his mouth.

Rubbing two sticks together he made a tiny fire beneath the edgeof the bank and cooked the pack rats. When he had eaten them therewas more water in the basin and again he drank. Carefully he filledthe hole that he had made, put out his fire and buried the asheswith the hides and remnants of his repast until there was no signthat an Apache had stopped here to eat and drink. As dusk turned todark he struck off across the plain toward the purplemountains.

An hour before dawn he was skirting the village of Casas Grandeswhen he heard voices ahead of him, where no voices should have beenat this hour of the night. Stealthily he crept forward toinvestigate, wormed his way to the top of a little rise of groundand looked down upon a camp of Mexican soldiers. All but the guardwere sleeping. A noncommissioned officer was changing sentries andas each was relieved a few words were spoken— these were thevoices that he had heard.

Shoz-Dijiji was not looking for Mexican soldiers. They were thelast people in the world he cared to meet; and so he gave the campa wide berth and continued toward the mountains. At dawn he laid upbeneath a bush at the top of a low, rocky foothill and slept. Justbefore noon he was awakened by the thud of horses' feet. Cautiouslyhe peered through the branches of the bush in the direction fromwhich the sound came and saw a patrol of Mexican cavalry ridingtoward the mountains.

There were three men in the patrol and they were riding directlytoward the hill upon the summit of which he lay observing them. Hecould see from their actions that they did not suspect his presenceand that they were following no trail. It was merely a patrol andthere were doubtless others out in various directions; it was onlychance that had placed him directly upon their post. They wouldmake their circuit and they would return to camp, well pleased ifthey discovered nothing to delay them, for there were senoritas anda cantina in Casas Grandes and soldiers are soldiers the worldover.

Shoz-Dijiji watched them coming. They were handsome men, almostas dark as he, and they sat their horses with an easy grace thatbespoke their descent from long lines of vaqueros. The Apachealmost had it in him to envy them their gay uniforms and theirtrappings, but he was too proud to accord them even his envy. Heknew that they were brave men and fierce men and that should theydiscover him, mounted as they were and armed with carbines, therewas a chance that he might never drive fifty ponies before thetepee of the father of Ish-kay-nay; that never again might he sitin the cool of the evening beneath the pines that pray,soft-voiced, to Usen, with Ish-kay-nay at his side.

Yes, they were coming directly up the hill! They would rideclose beside the bush that hid him now, but would no longer hidehim then. Behind him, up toward the great mountains, were otherbushes and many rocks. Before they saw him he might run quickly andgain other cover. Perhaps, in this way, he might elude thementirely, letting them pass on upon their business before heresumed his way. Shoz-Dijiji was not looking for Mexicansoldiers.

Bent double, running swiftly, keeping the bush he had quitalways between himself and the enemy, the Black Bear scurried fornew cover, and reached it. They had not seen him—yet. Butstill they were coming toward him. Again he raced for a new placeof concealment, but this time he scarce believed himself that theMexicans would be so blind as not to discover him, nor werethey.

Their sudden shouts shattered the quiet of the noonday; acarbine barked and a bullet ricocheted from a great boulder just asShoz-Dijiji leaped to shelter behind it.

Shoz-Dijiji whipped out his Colt and fired twice above the topof his rocky breastwork. A horse fell and the three Mexicansscattered for shelter—not because they were cowards, butbecause they were versed in the guerrilla warfare of their savagefoe.

As they scattered, Shoz-Dijiji raced for new shelter, nearer themountains that were his goal, and again he was fired upon. One ofthe soldiers was exposed as Shoz-Dijiji turned toward them. Ah, ifhe had his rifle! But he had no rifle and so he fired with hissix-shooter, and though he missed he made all three withdraw behindrocks and bushes, and again he moved quickly to a new location.

For an hour this running fight continued until the Black Bearsucceeded in attaining a hilltop so thickly strewn with bouldersthat he could lie in comparative safety and hold his fortress. Ifhe could but hold it until darkness had come there would be nofurther need for apprehension; but when he saw one of the soldierscreeping warily back toward the two remaining horses that they hadleft where the fight commenced he guessed that new trouble lay instore for him, and so he concentrated his fire upon this man.

The other Mexicans, however, had no mind to see their fellowslain and their plan frustrated, so they, in turn, concentratedtheir fire upon Shoz-Dijiji. Bullets flew thick and fast, patteringupon boulders, plowing into soft earth, ricocheting, whistling,screaming, and the soldier won safely out of range of Shoz-Dijiji'sColt, reached the horses, mounted one of them, and galloped offtoward Casas Grandes.

The Apache glanced at the sun, quickly computed the distance toCasas Grandes and the remaining hours of daylight and reached theconclusion that reinforcements would arrive long before dark. Hisammunition was running low. Three miles away the mountains offeredhim sanctuary. It was better to run for them now with only twocarbines firing at him than to wait until there were perhaps fifty.He emptied his six-shooter rapidly at the cover behind which theenemy lay; then he reloaded and fired twice again, after which herose quickly and, bending low, ran for the mountains, zigzagging,dodging, twisting. Bullets whinged past him; bullets spattered himwith dirt and gravel; there were bullets everywhere but whereShoz-Dijiji was.

His mind definitely determined upon a plan of action, the Apachedid not deviate from it. He passed many places where he might havefound shelter and stopped the pursuit, but he ran on, trusting tohis speed and the excitement of the soldiers to preserve him fromtheir bullets. He adopted the tactics of the hunted coyote, turningquickly at right angles to his line of retreat where brush grewthat would hide him for a moment from his pursuers.

When he emerged again it was to the right or left of where hehad disappeared and once again were the soldiers required torelocate their target. Occasionally he turned and fired at them ashe ran, which further disconcerted them. When he reached the densebrush at the foot of the first mountain mass he knew that theMexicans had lost him, and they knew it, too. Reeking with sweat,caked with dust, hot, thirsty, cursing mellifluously, the soldierssquatted, their backs against great rocks, rolling cigarrilloswhile they waited for reinforcements.

From a high place upon the side of the mountain, Shoz-Dijiji sawthem and grinned. He also saw many horsemen galloping toward thehills from Casas Grandes. Again he grinned.

That night he slept in safety deep within the Mother Mountains,far up the side of a mighty peak in a little crevice where a springrose and sank again before it reached the precipice. Only God, themountain goat and the Apache had knowledge of this place.

It was cold there and Shoz-Dijiji was almost naked. He wasuncomfortable, of course, but the Apache is above discomfort whenthe call of the war trail sounds. Burning heat by day or freezingcold by night are to him but a part of the game. He does notcomplain, but prides himself upon his strength to withstandhardship that would destroy the morale of any other warrior in theworld, beat him down, weaken him, kill him.

For two weeks Shoz-Dijiji sought his chance to approach thehacienda of the rich Mexican who owned the splendid horses thatwere known from one end of Mexico to the other; but always therewere the soldiers. They seemed to know the purpose of his coming,for patrols appeared to hover constantly about the vicinity of thenoble herd, so that the Black Bear had no opportunity forreconnaissance.

Of course they did not know, and it was only chance and theregal hospitality of the rich Mexican that kept them so often andso long where Shoz-Dijiji wished they were not. He fretted andchafed at the delay for the time was almost come when he should beback with the fifty ponies for the father of Ish-kay-nay. Soon themoon would be full again and if he had not come Ish-kay-nay mightthink him dead.

In Sonora a savage chieftain had been raiding with a handful of hisfierce warriors. Now he was slinking northward bearing his loot onstolen mules. It was Juh, chief of the Ned-ni; cruel, relentlessJuh; Juh the Butcher. He crossed the Sierra Madre and dropped downinto Chihuahua just above Janos. Mexican herders saw him and wordwas sent to the officer in command of the troops camped by CasasGrandes. Thus did Juh, unguessing, befriend Shoz-Dijiji, for thesoldiers broke their camp and rode away toward Janos, leaving thefield clear for the Black Bear.

The soldiers did not catch Juh, for that wily old villain pushedon by night and by day until the boundary lay south of him. Then heturned west and entered Arizona and the domain of Na-chi-ta, son ofCochise—the domain of the Cho-kon-en. Here, he had heard,Geronimo was camped with his Be-don-ko-he. There was a very goodreason that never left the determined mind of Juh why he wanted tovisit the Be-don-ko-he, for he had not relinquished the hope thathe might yet win Ish-kay-nay, nor did he care by what means, beingas little concerned by questions of ethics as are most whitemen.

One day his party came upon a little pinto stallion feeding uponthe sparse vegetation in the bottom of a coulee, a pinto stallionthat looked up and nickered when he caught the familiar scent spoorof his master's people, and then came limping toward them.

Juh recognized Nejeunee and wondered. When the animal followedalong with them he made no effort to turn it back, and so he cameto the camp of Geronimo with the war pony of Shoz-Dijiji limping inthe rear.

The finding of Nejeunee lame and at a distance from the camp ofthe Be-don-ko-he had set Juh to thinking. It might mean any one ofa number of things but particularly it suggested the likelihood ofShoz-Dijiji's absence; for a good war pony is cherished by itsowner, and it seemed improbable that if Shoz-Dijiji was with thetribe that he would have permitted his pony to remain thus at themercy of the first band of raiders, white or red, that might chanceupon it. Unquestionably, Shoz-Dijiji had ridden his pony from campand something, equally unquestionable, had happened to the pony.Perhaps at the same time something had happened to Shoz-Dijiji.

Juh sought the father of Ish-kay-nay and renewed his importuningof the old warrior for the hand of his daughter, nor did he mentionShoz-Dijiji, but he learned all that he wished to know—thatIsh-kay-nay had accepted the advances of his rival and that thelatter had gone to find the fifty ponies that the old man haddemanded.

"He promised Ish-kay-nay that he would return with the fullmoon," said the old man, "but the time is almost gone and nothinghas been heard of him. Perhaps he will not return."

Cunning, unscrupulous, Juh seized upon his opportunity. "He willnot return," he said. "Shoz-Dijiji is dead." The old man lookedpleased. "In Sonora he was killed by the Mexicans. There we weretold that a young warrior had been killed while attempting to driveoff a bunch of horses. We did not know who he was until we foundhis pony. It was lame. We brought it with us. Talk with the girl.If she will feed and water my pony, come to me. Juh will give thefather of Ish-kay-nay fifteen ponies."

Juh laughed. "That was talk," he said. "How could he give youfifty ponies when he had but three? I have fifteen ponies; that isbetter than fifty that do not exist."

"Yes, I have many more, and I am a great chief. Juh can do manythings for the father of Ish-kay-nay."

"Twenty-five ponies," suggested the other, preferringtwenty-five ponies to the chance that Juh would forget the lessconcrete suggestion of future obligation.

"Twenty-five ponies. The girl is a good daughter. My heart willbe heavy with sorrow when she is gone."

"Twenty ponies and five mules," snapped Juh with finality,turning upon his heel.

"And ammunition," exclaimed the old man, hurriedly; but the dealwas made on the basis of twenty ponies, five mules and a rifle.

Ish-kay-nay, sitting beneath the shade of a tree, was sewingpretty beads upon a bit of buckskin, using an awl and deer sinew.She hummed contentedly to herself as she planned for thefuture—the long, happy future with Shoz-Dijiji. She wouldmake many pretty things for them both and for their tepee. Latershe would make other pretty things, tiny things, for future warchiefs. Her father found her thus.

She looked up at him quickly, sensing a new note in a statementthat she had already heard many times since her lover had departed.Heretofore the statement had implied only hope, now it was redolentof sweet relief.

The heart of Ish-kay-nay went cold and numb within her, but theexpression upon her face underwent no change. "Who says so?" shedemanded.

"Juh does not lie, nor has he slain Shoz-Dijiji." Then he toldher all that Juh had told him. "I am an old man," he continued. "Ihave not long to live. Before I die I would see my daughter, whom Ilove, safe with a great warrior. Juh is a great warrior. He willtreat you well. He has many women and you will not have to workhard. If he ties his pony before our tepee Ish-kay-nay will lead itto water and feed it?"

"If Shoz-Dijiji has not returned when next klego-na-ay ridesacross the heavens will Ish-kay-nay listen with favor to the wordsof Juh?"

"If Shoz-Dijiji has not returned then," she said wearily, "Juhmay tie his pony before our tepee. Then Ish-kay-nay will know whatto do. She does not give her answer before."

This word the old man bore to Juh and the two had to besatisfied with it, though Juh, knowing Ish-kay-nay of old, wouldhave preferred something more definite as he had no stomach foranother public rebuff.

Day after day early morning found an Apache girl standing solitaryand sad upon a commanding mountain looking ever with straining eyesout toward the south—looking for a mighty figure, a lovedfigure, a figure that never came. Sometimes she stood there all daylong, watching, waiting.

She hated to go to the tepee of her father, for the old mantalked always of Juh and of her duty, of the honor of being thesquaw of a great chief; and so she crept there late at night andhid in her blankets, feigning sleep, sleep that would not come.Often she went to another tepee where an aging man and an agingwoman sat silent and sorrowing, to the tepee of Geronimo wentIsh-kay-nay, mingling her voiceless agony with theirs.

One day old Nakay-do-klunni, the Izze-nan-tan, rode into camp ofthe Be-don-ko-he and Ish-kay-nay went to him, asking if he couldlearn from the spirits the truth about her lover; butNakay-do-klunni was full of another matter and put her off, thoughnot without a thought for business. Perhaps later, he told her, butit would require big medicine and that was expensive. She offeredhim her little treasures and he promised to see what he could doabout it.

When she told her father what she had done he went to Juh and,later, Juh went to Nakay-do-klunni; but Nakay-do-klunni was full ofanother matter, though he did manage to lay it from his mindtemporarily when Juh mentioned a pair of field glasses and a Coltwith a mother-of-pearl grip.

"Send the girl to my tepee in the morning," he said to Juh, forthat night he was too full of this other matter, and when theevening meal had been eaten and the warriors had gathered to smokeand make talk Nakay-do-klunni told them strange things.

"I had a dream," he said in a voice that all might hear. "Thespirits of many izze-nan-tans came and spoke to me and with themwere the spirits of all the war chiefs of the Apaches who areyah-ik-tee. And the izze-nantans gave me the power to raise thedead and make them live, and the war chiefs said that they wouldgather together the spirits of all the warriors who were dead andbring them to the Tonto Basin on a certain day, and that Geronimo,the war chief of all the Apaches, must come there and bring all theliving warriors of the six tribes: the warriors of theBe-don-ko-he, of the Chi-hen-ne, of the Sierra Blanca, of theChi-e-a-hen, of the Cho-kon-en, of the Ned-ni.

"When they are all gathered, the living and the dead, I,Nakay-do-klunni, Izze-nantan of the Shis-Inday, will make the deadwarriors to live again so that their numbers will be as the needlesupon the pine trees; when they take the war trail the earth willshake and when they raise the war cry the heavens will be rentasunder.

"Upon that night there will be a great feast and a great danceand Nakay-do-klunni will make strong medicine that will turn thebullets of our enemies from the breasts of our warriors; and uponthe next day we will take the war path against the white-eyes andthey will all be killed and the Shis-Inday will again holdundisputed sway over the country that Usen gave them.

"These are true words and to prove it Nakay-do-klunni will teachthe Be-don-ko-he the dance that the spirits of the warriors andtheir women taught Nakay-do-klunni, the dance that all the peoplesof the Shis-Inday will dance upon the great night before they takethe war trail against the white-eyes.

"The day is near. Seven times will the sun rise and no morebefore the day comes when the Shis-Inday will be rid forever of thehated white-eyes and all their kind. Then will the buffalo and thedeer and the antelope come back to the country of the Shis-Indayfrom which the white-eyed men have driven them, and we shall liveagain as we did in the days of our fathers. I have spoken. Come andI will show you the dance, the spirit dance of your dead."

Arranging the warriors and the women in files radiating from acommon center, at which he stood, and facing him, so that theformation resembled the spokes of a fellyless wheel of which theizze-nantan was the hub, he started the dancing while two oldsub-chiefs beat upon es-a-da-deds. As they danced Nakay-do-klunnichanted weird gibberish and scattered the sacred hoddentin upon thedancers in prodigal profusion and the drummers beat with increasingrapidity.

Occasionally a wild cry would break from the lips of some dancerand be taken up by others until the forest and the mountains rangwith the savage sounds. Until morning came and many had droppedwith exhaustion the dance continued. The Be-don-ko-he had workedthemselves into a frenzy of religious fanaticism, just as had theCho-kon-en, the Chi-hen-ne and the other tribes thatNakay-do-klunni had visited, just as the old izze-nantan had knownthat they would.

XIV. — "FIFTY APACHES"

IT was nearly noon of the following day beforeIsh-kay-nay could arouse the exhausted izze-nantan, for the spiritdance had drawn heavily upon his physical resources and, too, ithad left him cross and surly; for the cha-ja-la is a hard taskmaster to its devotees, even of a single evening, andNakay-do-klunni had been steadily at it for weeks in his effort toarouse the scattered tribes. It meant much to Nakay-do-klunni forhe had long since sensed the antagonism of the whites toward themembers of his precious profession and he saw his powers, and alsohis emoluments, not alone waning, but approaching total eclipse, ifsomething radical was not compassed to thwart the activities of thepindah lickoyee. Power and emoluments were the life ofNakay-do-klunni.

Her words reminded the medicine man of something, of a pair offield glasses and a pearl-handled Colt, and he relaxed. "Sit down,"he mumbled. "Nakay-do-klunni make medicine, talk with spirits, youwait."

Ish-kay-nay sat down. The medicine man opened a beaded buckskinbag and took forth some pieces of lightning-riven wood, a root, astone, a piece of turquoise, a glass bead and a square bit ofbuckskin upon which colored designs had been painted. All the timehe mumbled strange words that Ish-kay-nay only knew were sacred,all powerful and terrible. Nakay-do-klunni did not know even thismuch about them.

He sprinkled hoddentin upon the potent paraphernalia of hiswizardry, upon Ish-kay-nay, upon himself; he tossed it to the fourwinds. Then he pointed toward a bag that Ish-kay-nay clutched inher hand, and grunted. The girl understood, opened the bag anddisplayed a few bits of the blue-green dukliji, some coloredbeads—her treasures. Wide-eyed, tearless, she looked atNakay-do-klunni, wondering, hoping that this would be enough toinsure strong medicine from the great izze-nantan—if her allwould be enough to bring her word of Shoz-Dijiji, of her lover.

Nakay-do-klunni scraped it all into his palm, examined it,dropped it into his own bag, then he closed his eyes and sat insilence, as though listening. For several minutes he sat thus andIsh-kay-nay was greatly impressed by this evidence of supernaturalpower, for was not Nakay-do-klunni even now in communication withthe spirits? When he opened his eyes and looked at her littleIsh-kay-nay came as near swooning as it is possible to conceive ofan Apache. Her lips parted, panting, she awaited the verdict.

"Shoz-Dijiji not come back," announced Nakay-do-klunni. Hewaited impressively for a moment "Shoz-Dijiji dead!" He started togive her the harrowing details, as explained to him by Juh, but thegirl had risen and was walking away. What did Ish-kay-nay care forthe details? It was enough to know that Shoz-Dijiji was dead, thathe would not come back, that she was never to see him again.

Her face betrayed nothing of the terrifying, withering emotionthat scorched her brain. Erect, proud, almost majestic, the littleIndian girl walked out of the camp of the Be-don-ko-he and took hersorrow with her. Far up into the mountains she took it, to a placethat she and Shoz-Dijiji had known together. Until night she laythere where none might see her, her supple frame racked by sobs,giving herself wholly to her grief; nor all during the long nightdid she move, but lay there in the awful silence of the mountain,smothering her moans in its rocky bosom.

When she returned to camp in the morning her eyes were swollen,but dry. Her father was waiting for her, anxiously, for suicide,though rare, was not unknown among the Apaches. He told her thatupon the second day the tribe was setting out for the Tonto Basincountry; that there was going to be war and that all the pindahlickoyee would be killed. Everything would be different then withthe Shis-Inday and Juh would be a very great chief indeed, for allthe dead Ned-nis would come back and join the tribe. He urged uponher the necessity for immediately accepting the advances of thechief.

Ish-kay-nay was apathetic. She did not care what happened to hernow. Without Shoz-Dijiji there could be no happiness. It might thenas well be Juh as another. It would please her father. Listlesslyshe gave her assent. That night the war pony of the chief of theNed-ni was tethered before her tepee, and when the tribe broke campto go to Tonto Basin and upon the war trail Juh rode off alone withIsh-kay-nay, up into the hills.

IN the foothills near Casas Grandes Shoz-Dijiji lay watching theherd of the rich Mexican for several days after the troopswithdrew, for, being an Apache, he must reconnoiter carefully,painstakingly, before he struck. At night he crept down and watchedand listened and planned very close to the corral where the horseswere and the house where the vaqueros slept, until he knew thehabits and the customs of the men and saw that they had not changedsince last he had been there.

Then came the night that he had chosen for the venture. In thesilence of the midnight he crept down to the corral, a high-walledenclosure built to protect its valued contents from such as he.Heavy gates, strongly barred and padlocked would have defied thebest efforts of several men. This Shoz-Dijiji well knew and so hedid not bother with them. When the time came they would open.

He moved directly to the far side of the corral, as far from thesleeping quarters of the vaqueros as possible, and waited there,listening. Satisfied, he leaped and seized the top of the wall,making no noise. In equal silence he drew himself up and verygently lowered his body to the ground inside. The horses nearer himbecame restless. One of them snorted. Shoz-Dijiji whisperedsoothingly soft Spanish words. All the time he stood very still andpresently the animals quieted.

In half an hour they were accustomed to his presence, werebecoming accustomed to his scent. A few approached, sniffing him.Gradually he commenced moving toward the nearest. It walked away,but did not appear to be terrified. For hours Shoz-Dijiji workedpatiently. All depended upon his ability to get close to one horsequickly and without terrifying it; but it was almost dawn before hesucceeded and quite dawn before he was able to loop a rope aboutits lower jaw.

It was only a short time thereafter that he heard the vaquerosmoving about. Shoz-Dijiji grinned. With all their care there wasthis one vulnerable point in their daily routine; it consisted inthe fact that they were accustomed to turn the herd from the corralbefore they saddled their own horses that were kept in a smallerenclosure nearby the main corral. The horses went at once to water,close to the hacienda and in plain view, and by the time they haddrunk the vaqueros were saddled ready to drive them out onto therange. All this Shoz-Dijiji knew.

Shoz-Dijiji smelled the breakfasts cooking and the aroma oftobacco. Then he heard someone at the gates. It would be one man,always had been; there was no need of more than one to unlock andswing the portals. The gates swung aside. The horses, crowding,jostling one another, went through with heads well raised,effectually blocking from the view of the single vaquero anythingthat might have been transpiring in the corral behind them, if hehad been seeking to discover; but he was seeking to discovernothing. He was only concerned with the business of inhaling hiscigarrillo and digesting his breakfast.

Many times had he done this same letting out of the horses of amorning. There was nothing about it and never had been anythingabout it to focus upon it any interested attention—least notuntil this morning. Even at first he did not know what aninteresting thing was going on there right in the corral almostunder his nose, for the horses' heads were held high and he couldnot have seen beyond them had he looked; furthermore he did notlook. So he did not see that a war chief of the Be-don-ko-he, theson of the war chief of all the Apaches, had slipped a naked legover the back of a bright bay gelding and was lying close along theanimal's side.

Most of the horses were out of the corral when the vaquero wasstartled to hear a war whoop almost in his ears—a war whoopthat was immediately followed by the crack of a revolver. Thehorses were startled, too. Snorting and with heads even higher thanbefore, the last of them rushed through the gateway, terrified.Behind them, whooping, firing a revolver, came a terrifying thing.They broke first into a gallop and then into a mad run, but stillthe shrieking, howling creature clung to their rear or flank,circling them, turning them, heading them toward the north.

As it passed the startled vaquero he caught a fleeting glimpseof a moccasined foot and a painted face and he drew hissix-shooter, but he dared not fire; for did he not know the highvalue that his master placed upon these dearly beloved animals ofhis, and could he shoot without endangering some of them? Insteadhe turned and ran to notify his fellows, but he met them runningtoward him, attracted by the whoops and the shots. Already the herdwas hidden by its own dust cloud.

"Apaches!" shouted the vaquero, but they did not need to be toldthat—they had heard that dread cry before. "Fifty of them,"shouted the man, running toward the small corral where their mountswere confined.

By the time they had saddled and bridled and ridden out the dustcloud was far away, and though they pursued it they were, asexperienced Indian fighters should be, keenly on the lookout for anambuscade. Knowing that there had been fifty warriors in the partythat had run off their stock, it was only natural that they shouldexpect a part of that number to lie in wait for them along the way.Of necessity this slowed down the pursuit, but Shoz-Dijiji did notslow down, he kept the herd at top speed as long as he could do so;and even after it tired and was no longer terrified he pushed ithard along the trail that he had chosen.

The horses had been without water since the previous day andthey had run for many miles under the ever-increasing heat of thesun. Now it poured down upon them. They were choked with dust andreeked sweat, and the terrible thing behind them would not let themturn back toward water; but presently, toward noon the thinghappened that Shoz-Dijiji knew would happen, so carefully does theApache plan each smallest detail.

Far ahead, miles and miles away, lay water on the trail thatShoz-Dijiji had thus purposely selected, and somehow the horsesknew that it was there as horses seem always to know. No longer didthe Apache have difficulty in keeping the great herd upon the righttrail, in preventing it from turning back. On the contrary his ownmount, having carried him half a day, found difficulty in keepingpace with its fellows.

How he took them, alone and unaided, across weary, dusty,burning miles, through scorching deserts and rugged mountainsequally scorching, along a trail beset by enemies, pursued bywrathful vaqueros, would well have been the subject of a deathlessepic had Shoz-Dijiji lived in the days of Homer.

Rests found him always where there were water and grass,sometimes at the end of a long day, or again at the close of a longnight; for Shoz-Dijiji, more tireless than the horses, could traveltwenty hours on end, and more if necessary. He caught fleetingmoments of sleep while the horses watered and fed, always lying onthe trail behind them that they must disturb him if they turnedback; and turn back they did on more than a single occasion,causing the Apache many an hour of hard and perilous riding; but hewas determined to bring them through without the loss of a singlehorse if that was humanly possible of accomplishment. He would givethe father of Ish-kay-nay fifty horses and he would still havefifty for himself, and fifty such horses as these would makeShoz-Dijiji a rich man.

He thought all of the time about Ish-kay-nay. How proud shewould be! For Shoz-Dijiji appreciated well and fully theimpressiveness of his exploit. If he had been acclaimed as a greatwarrior before, this would go far toward establishing him as one ofthe greatest. Forevermore mothers would tell their children of thebravery and prowess of Shoz-Dijiji, nor was he either mistaken orovervain. Shoz-Dijiji had indeed performed a feat worthy of thegreatest heroes of his race.

Already he had crossed the boundary and was safe in the countryof the Cho-kon-en, and all that last night he urged the tiredhorses on that he might reach camp in the morning. His arms and hisheart ached for Ish-kay-nay—little Ish-kay-nay, theplayfellow of his childhood, the sweetheart of today, the mate ofthe morrow.

Toward dawn he came to water and let the herd drink. He wouldrest it there for an hour and then push on, reaching camp beforethe excessive heat of this early September day had becomeoppressive. Quenching his own thirst and that of the horse he rode,Shoz-Dijiji lay down to sleep, his crude bridle rein tied to hiswrist.

The horses, tired and footsore, were quiet. Some of them browseda little upon the dried, yellow grasses; many lay down to rest. Thesun rose and looked down upon the little mountain meadow, upon thedrowsing horses and the sleeping man.

Another looked down, also—a tall, gaunt man with cheekslike parchment and a mustache that had once been red, but was now,from over exposure to the Arizona sun, a sickly straw color. He hada reddish beard that was not yet old enough to have bleached. Uponthe blue sleeves of his jacket were yellow chevrons. Sergeant Olsonof "D" Troop looked down and saw exactly what the sun saw—anApache buck, habited for the war trail, asleep beside a bunch ofstolen stock. Sergeant Olson needed but a glance to assure hisexperienced cavalry eye that these were no Indian cayuses.

He withdrew below the edge of the hill from which he had beenreconnoitering and transmitted a gesture of silence toward othermen dressed in blue who sat their horses below him, and beckoned toan officer who quickly rode upward and dismounted. Presently theofficer shared the secret with Sergeant Olson and the sun. Heissued whispered orders and forty men rode down a narrow ravine andcrossed a ridge into the canyon below Shoz-Dijiji. The sun,crossing the withers of Shoz-Dijiji's horse, shone upon thewarrior's face and he awoke. He arose and mounted his horse.

Sergeant Olson, looking down from above, watched him. If he wentdown the canyon, all right; if he went up, all wrong—therewere no soldiers up the canyon. Shoz-Dijiji circled the herd andstarted it up the canyon. This did not suit Sergeant Olson; anyhow,the only good Indian is a dead Indian. The noncommissioned officerdrew his army Colt from its holster, took accurate aim and fired.Who could blame him?

Two days before his bunkie had been shot down in cold blood atCibicu Creek by an Apache scout who was in the service and theuniform of the United States. He had seen Captain Hentig murdered,shot in the back, by another scout named Mosby; he had seen Birdand Sondergros and Sullivan, and others killed; and, he smiled eventhen at the recollection, he had seen Ahrens, a "D" Troop bugler,put three bullets into the head of that old devil, Nakay-do-klunni. Sergent Olson called him Bobbydoklinne. Tough old buzzard,he was! Those three forty-fives in his cabezas hadn't killed him,and Smith, another "D" Troup sergeant, had found him crawling abouton the ground after dark and had finshed him with an axe—goodold Smith!

Shooting down at a considerable angle from a considerabledistance above one's target is difficult. No, shooting down is notdifficult, but hitting your target is. Sergeant Olson missed. Withan oath, he stood up and commenced firing rapidly and Shoz-Dijiji,seeing him immediately, returned the fire. Sergent Olson emitted anexplosive oath and dived forward opon the brow of the hill. Therehe lay, very quiet, while Shoz-Dijiji urged his horse up the steepcanyon side opposite. It is the Apache's instinct when surprised toseek some rugged, inaccessible spot from which he can survey witoutbeing surveyed, and always a place difficult or imposible forhorses.

From the top of the hogback Shoz-Dijiji looked over at SergantOlson, who had not moved. He saw no other soldiers there, but heknew where there was one soldier there were others, usually many ofthem. He cocked his ears. Ah, what was that? From down the canyoncame unmistakable evidence of the clumsy approach of clumsywhite-eyes. They made enough noise, thought Shoz-Dijiji, to havebeen a great army, but he knew that they were not. All the membersof the six tribes including their women and children could havepassed along this same trail with a tenth the commotion—onlythe soft swish of their moccasined feet.

Shoz-Dijiji hid his horse on the far side of the hogback andcrept back to watch. He saw the soldiers come, and hate anddisappointment surged through him in hot, savage waves as hewatched them round up his hundred horses and drive them back downthe canyon, while a detachment from the troop followed upward insearch of Indians.

Others went up the opposite side of the canyon to look forOlson; and as they found him Shoz-Dijiji mounted his horse belowthe edge of the hogback and rode down toward the valley,paralleling the course taken by the soldiers and his horses, loathto give them up, hoping against hope that some circumstance mightgive him the opportunity to win them back, ready to risk his life,if need be, for the price of Ish-kay-nay and happiness.

Bitter were the thoughts of Shoz-Dijiji as he followed thetroopers who had stolen his herd, for by the hoary standards of theApache, ages old, it was theft and the herd was his. Had he nottaken it by virtue of courage and cunning, winning it fairly? Hadthe soldiers been taking his herd for themselves there would havebeen less anger in the heart of Shoz-Dijiji, for he could accord toothers the same rights that he demanded for himself, but they werenot.

Experience had taught him that the fool white-eyes took stockfrom the Indians and tried to return it to those from whom theIndians had taken it, profiting in no way. Therefore he believedthat they did so purely for the purpose of persecuting the Indians,just as they had taken their water and their lands and ruined theirhunting grounds, which was, in the sight of Usen and his children,but a part of the plan of the pindah lickoyee to exterminate theShis-Inday.

Did not all men know that the thing the pindah lickoyee calledgovernment had hired many hunters to exterminate the buffalo andall other game, thus forcing the Indians to remain on thereservations and beg for rations or starve? Bitter were thethoughts of Shoz-Dijiji as he followed the troopers down toward theplain.

From behind a knoll near the mouth of the canyon the Black Bearsaw the soldiers of "D" Troop drive the horses out upon the plainand toward the north. As he knew all the vast domain of his peopleShoz-Dijiji knew this plain, knew it as he knew the wrinkles in theface of Sons-ee-ah-ray, knew the route the soldiers would takeacross it, knew the windings of the dry wash that cut deeplythrough it from the canyon's mouth. He waited where he was until arise of ground hid him from the troopers entering the plain below.Cautiously the Apache rode down into the wash and along its dry,sandy bottom where the steep, high banks hid him from the sight ofthe soldiers. Where the wash took a broad sweep to the east heurged his mount to a run. The sand beneath its feet gave forth nodust nor any sound.

The soldiers, moving in a more direct line, were drawing awayfrom him as Shoz-Dijiji raced, a silent shadow, toward thedestination he had chosen. The wash turned toward the north andthen again in a westerly direction, making a wide curve and comingagain very close to the trail along which the soldiers were drivingShoz-Dijiji's herd. Toward this point the Apache was racing, in hismind a bold plan, such a plan as only an Apache mind mightconceive—of all warriors the most cautious, also, of allwarriors, the most fearless when emergency demandedfearlessness.

Other warriors might pit themselves gallantly and gloriouslyagainst great odds in defense of the weak, in furtherance of somelofty ideal or for the honor of a flag; but it remained for anApache, armed with a six-shooter, a knife, a bow and some arrows,to seriously conceive the idea that he might successfully attackten fully armed cavalrymen for the sake of some captured loot! Butperhaps we are unfair to Shoz-Dijiji, for was there not alsoIsh-kay-nay?

Where the trail came again close to the wash there was a way upits steep side to the plain above, a way that Shoz-Dijiji knew. Ithad been made by range stock crossing at this point. When the lastof the soldiers had passed it they were startled by aloud Apachewhoop and the bark of a six-shooter. Yelling, firing, Shoz-Dijijicharged straight toward the rear of the herd, straight toward theten mounted troopers. The horses broke into a gallop, frightened bythe yells and the shots. The soldiers, sure that there must beother hostiles hiding in the wash, fired at Shoz-Dijiji and thenturned their attention toward the point where they expected themain force of the enemy to develop, toward the wash. Shoz-Dijiji,still yelling, drew away behind the racing herd.

But only for a moment were the troopers disconcerted by thesuddenness, by the sheer effrontery of the attack. A sergeantraised his carbine to his shoulder, his mount, well-trained, stoodmotionless as its rider slowly dropped the sights upon the brightbay gelding, already a long shot for a sharpshooter, even at afixed target.

The sergeant pressed the trigger. There was a puff of smoke fromthe black powder and the bright bay gelding lurched heavily to theground, turning a complete somersault, hurling its rider far ahead.Over and over rolled Shoz-Dijiji, still clinging to his precioussix-shooter, and came to his feet unhurt. A quick glance showed himthe herd well out of his reach. No chance there to gain a newmount. To the rear he saw ten angry cavalrymen spurring toward him,firing as they came.

Shoz-Dijiji was trained to think quickly, and as the bulletshurled up spurts of dust about him he vanished again into the washthat had given him up.

XV. — HUNTED

FOLLOWING the battle at Cibicu Creek Juh and hiswarriors clung to the rear and flanks of the retreating cavalry,menacing, harassing, all through the two nerve-racking days of themarch to Fort Apache. As his warriors surrounded the fort, firingconstantly upon its defenders, Juh went among the Apaches on thereservation, telling them of the slaying of Nakay-do-klunni, of thegreat victory he had won at Cibicu Creek, promising them that ifthey would join him the pindah lickoyee would be destroyed to thelast man and the Apaches would again rule supreme over theircountry; nor, in view of visual proof they had had of the retreatof the soldiers, was it difficult to assure them that their hourhad struck.

By morning Fort Apache was surrounded by yelling savages,pouring a rain of fire upon the breastworks that had been hastilythrown up by the troops. Scouting parties were abroad watching forthe first sign of the reinforcements that might be expected to cometo the rescue of the beleaguered post, and to destroy the civilianswho attempted to escape.

Consumed by hatred of the whites, incited by the fieryexhortations of their chiefs and medicine men to the exterminationof the foe, these scouting parties scourged the country surroundingFort Apache with all the zeal of religious fanatics.

At Seven Mile Hill they fell upon three men escaping from thepost and after a brisk battle killed them and burned their wagon; afew miles south another party lay in wait for two civilians andshot them from ambush; they killed the mail carrier from BlackRiver station, and shot old Fibs, who had the government beefcontract, as he sat in his adobe shack, and ran off all hiscattle.

And while the warriors of Juh, chief of the Ned-ni, terrorizedthe country about Fort Apache his messengers rode to Geronimo andto Na-chi-ta urging the Be-don-ko-he and the Cho-kon-en to joinhim, and the beating of the es-a-da-ded broke the stillness of theArizona nights as painted braves leaped and shouted in the frenzyof the war dance the length and breadth of Apacheland.

Up from Fort Thomas rode the first reinforcements for FortApache, spurred on by the rumor that Colonel Carr and his entirecommand had been massacred, while from many a hilltop the Ned-niscouts watched them and took word to Juh. Gathering their poniesand the stolen herds whose numbers had greatly augmented their ownthe Ned-ni set out toward the southwest to join with Geronimo andthe Be-don-ko-he.

Down toward the border, raiding, massacring, fighting off thepursuing troops, the savage horde moved with a rapidity that ispossible only to Apaches in the uptorn, burning country acrosswhich they chose to lead the suffering troops. Na-chi-ta joinedthem with his Cho-kon-en, and there was Mangas and Naniy and Kut-leand many another famous warrior to bring terror and destruction tothe pindah lickoyee, and with them went their women, their childrenand their herds.

Northward, searching for his people, went Shoz-Dijiji, dodging,doubling, hiding like a beast of prey upon which the hunters areclosing, for in whatever direction he turned he saw soldiers orsigns of soldiers. Never had Shoz-Dijiji seen so many soldiers andthey all seemed to be marching in the same direction, toward FortApache. The young war chief wondered what this movement of troopsportended. Had the reservation Indians arisen, were his people onthe warpath, or were the pindah lickoyee planning a surprise attackin force?

Shoz-Dijiji could not know, he could only guess that somethingmomentous was afoot, and that where the soldiers of the pindahlickoyee went there would be Apaches. So he kept to the directionthe troops were taking, longing to meet one of his own kind,watching always for signals. Patient is the Apache, but the strainof prolonged apprehension was telling upon the nerves ofShoz-Dijiji. Had it been only a question as to the whereabouts orthe fate of the Apache people Shoz-Dijiji would have been lessseriously affected; but the whereabouts and the fate of Ish-kay-naywere involved and that was by far a more serious consideration.

It irked Shoz-Dijiji to think of returning empty-handed. He knewthe raillery to which he would be subjected and which he mustaccept in silence. He had failed and so there was nothing to say,for in the pandect of the Apaches there is no justification forfailure. It would still have been within the range of possibilitiesto have picked up some horses were it not for all these soldiers;and so to his other reasons for hating them there was added thisother, the further frustration of his marriage plan.

It was, therefore, a rather bitter, bloodthirsty savage who camesuddenly face to face with a young white girl where no white girl,young or old, should have been upon this September day in Arizona,with the Apaches burning, killing, ravishing across half a dozencounties. She sat beneath the scant shade of a small bush in aravine well removed from any trail, and that was why it happenedthat Shoz-Dijiji was face to face with her before he was aware thatthere was another human being near.

At sight of him the girl sprang to her feet, drawing her Colt,an act that was duplicated with even greater celerity by the youngbrave, but neither fired—"Shoz-Dijiji!" exclaimed the girl,lowering the muzzle of her weapon. A sudden, friendly smileilluminated her face. Perhaps it was the smile that saved her fromsudden death. Shoz-Dijiji was an Apache. His standards of right andwrong were not as ours, and further, he had only one set, and theyapplied to his friends—for his relations with the enemies ofhis people he had none. But there must have been something in thatfriendly smile that influenced him more surely than all theteachings of his elders, more potent even than all his naturalinclinations.

"What in the world are you doing here?" demanded the girl."Don't you know that there are soldiers everywhere hunting theCheeracows? Oh, I forgot! If you could only sabe."

"Here," thought Shoz-Dijiji, "I may be able to learn what ishappening between the soldiers and my people." So, as oftenhappens, the ignorant savage sabed when it was to his interest.

Shoz-Dijiji smiled. "Me savvy," he repeated. "Tell me where allthese soldiers go? Where are my people that you callCheeracows?"

"They've gone out—they're on the warpath—and they'rejust naturally raisin' hell.

"No, Shoz-Dijiji alone. Been away. Come back. No find people.Shoz-Dijiji is looking for his people, that is all. You tell him.Where are they?"

"They been mostly around Fort Apache," said the girl. "There wasa fight at Cibicu Creek and they killed a lot of soldiers. Thenthey attacked the fort. Old Whoa was leading them."

Shoz-Dijiji, watching the girl as she talked, was struck by herbeauty. To him it seemed to have a wonderful quality that he hadnot noticed upon their previous meeting, even though he had thenbeen impressed by her good looks. If he had not loved Ish-kay-naywith such fierce devotion perhaps he might have seen in WichitaBillings a mate well suited to a great war chief.

"Were many Indians killed at Cibicu Creek?" asked Shoz-Dijiji."Were their women there with them?"

"I have not heard but just a little of the fight," repliedWichita. "Captain Hentig and some of his men were killed and oldBobby-doklinny."

Shoz-Dijiji knew whom she meant, just as he had known that shereferred to Juh when she spoke of Whoa—these white-eyes weremost ignorant, they could not pronounce the simplest names.

"He wasn't with Whoa at Cibicu but we just heard today that therenegades are on their way toward the border and that Geronimo hasjoined them. It sure looks like a hard winter. I wish to God we'dnever left Kansas. Believe me, the East is good enough for WichitaBillings! Say, Shoz-Dijiji, are you sure you aint a renegade?"

"Then you better come in with me and give yourself up or thesoldiers will sure get you. They aint askin' no questions when theysee a Cheeracow—they just plug him. You come on in to theranch with me, there's a detachment of "E" Troop there now, andI'll see that they don't hurt you."

Shoz-Dijiji extended a slow hand and laid it on the girl's arm.His face grew very serious and stern as his dark eyes looked intohers. "Listen, white girl," he said. "Shoz-Dijiji said he isfriendly. Shoz-Dijiji does no speak lies. He is friendly—toyou. Shoz-Dijiji no harm you. Do not be afraid. But Shoz-Dijiji notfriend to the white soldiers. Not friend to the whitepeople—only you.

"Shoz-Dijiji is war chief among the Be-don-ko-he. His place iswith the warriors of his people. You say there are soldiers at thehacienda of your father. Go! Tell them that Shoz-Dijiji, war chiefamong the Be-don-ko-he, is here in the hills. Tell them to try andcatch him."

The girl shook her head. "No, Shoz-Dijiji, I will not go andtell them anything. You are my friend. I am your friend. You savedme once. I do not care whether you are a renegade or not. I willnot tell them you are here, and if I can help you, I will."

Shoz-Dijiji looked at her in silence for what seemed a longtime. He was puzzled. There was some quality possessed by thepindah lickoyee and the Mexicans that it was difficult for him tounderstand, objectively; yet, all unrealizing, he had just beeninstinctively practicing it himself. What she said recalled theaction of the Mexican woodchopper that time at Casas Grandes; buthe sensed no similarity between their friendly gratitude and hisforbearance toward this beautiful enemy girl, or knew that hisaction was partially based on gratitude for a friendly smile andfrank trustfulness. He thought he did not harm her simply becausehe did not wish to. He did not know that he could not have harmedher, that there was a force within him stronger even than hissavage training.

"All night, all day Shoz-Dijiji have no water. There weresoldiers at every spring, at every water hole. Shoz-Dijiji wantswater and a horse."

She raised her palms to the level of her shoulders and shrugged."The old son-of-a-gun pitched me clean off," she said. "That's whyI was a-sittin' up here restin'. I been walking close to an hourand I'm dog-tired; but it's only a short jag to the house now. Imay have to sneak out with a horse for you, so don't get worried ifI ain't back before dark." She started away.

"I go a little way—where I can watch you. Mebbyso bad menaround; mebbyso hostiles. Shoz-Dijiji go little way and watch."

Through the hills he went with her, walking ahead as a braveshould, until they came within sight of the ranch house. Somecavalry mounts were tied to a corral fence; troopers were lollingin the shade of the bunk house swapping lies with the cowhands. Anofficer leaned in a back-tilted chair beside the doorway of theranch house talking with Billings. Only Shoz-Dijiji's eyes andforehead showed above the top of the last hill above the wagon roadwhere it entered the little flat in which stood the main ranchbuildings, and they were screened from view by a small bush.

She hesitated, her brow puckered in thought. "If I bring you ahorse you will return at once to your tribe?" she demanded.

"If you meet any lone whites on the way will you promise me thatyou will not kill them?"

He nodded. "Me savvy. Shoz-Dijiji no kill until he find hispeople. If they on war trail Shoz-Dijiji fight with them.Shoz-Dijiji a war chief. White warriors kill. Apache warriors kill.That is right."

"All right—you go tell white warriors they must not killApaches. They stop, Shoz-Dijiji stop. Now you go get pony forShoz-Dijiji. Big talk no good now—no can eat—no canride. Go."

The girl could not but smile as she turned away and rounding thesummit of the hill dropped down toward the ranch house in full viewof those gathered there. At sight of her they all arose and severalstarted in her direction, her father among them.

"Where in all tarnation you been, Chita?" he demanded when theywere close enough for speech. "I thought I told you to stay in townuntil this fracas blowed over."

"Well, it has blowed over, hasn't it?" she asked. "We heardyesterday that the hostiles was all headed for the border, so Ithought I'd come home. I'm sure sick o' them tin-horns intown."

"Pitched me off a mile or so back yender!" she explained. "I wastakin' a short cut through the hills."

"You saw no sign of hostiles, I take it, Miss Billings?"suggested the officer, a young cavalry lieutenant.

"Nary hostile," she replied. The young West Pointer thought whata shame it was that such a pretty girl should pronounce the "i"long; doubtless she said "masakree" too. But how pretty she was! Hecould not recall having seen such a beauty in a month of Sundays.He hoped the C. 0. would keep his detachment at the Billings ranchfor a long time.

He had heard Billings and some of the cowhands mention Chita andhe had expected to see, if he saw her at all, a raw-boned slatternwith large, red hands, and so he was not prepared for the daintybeauty that burst upon his astonished vision. God, what a mothershe must have had, thought the lieutenant, appraising Billings; buthe felt that he could have enjoyed her more had he been deaf, forhe had not yet been of the West a sufficient length of time toaccustom his ears to the naive pronunciation of the frontier, sodifferent from his native Bostonese.

The young lieutenant to the contrary, not withstanding, it maynot be truthfully said that Wichita Billings was dainty; she wasbeautiful, yes, but with a certain strength and robustness, adefinite self-reliance, that does not perfectly harmonize with thetruest conception of daintiness. She was entirely feminine and herhands and feet were small, but they were strong looking hands andshe stood squarely upon her two feet in her little high-heeledboots. Her well-moulded jaw was a strong jaw and her laughing eyeswere brave without boldness.

No, dainty was not the word; but then, perhaps, LieutenantSamuel Adams King was influenced not by the Back Bay background ofyesterday so much as he was by that nearer background composed ofrough cavalrymen and pipe-smoking, tobacco-chewing women of the oldfrontier. By comparison with these the girl was as dainty as aviolet in a cabbage patch, especially when she was pensive, as sheoften was, or when she was smiling, and she was smiling quite asoften as she was pensive, in fact, at almost any time when she wasnot talking. Then the illusion was shattered.

However, strange as it may seem, Lieutenant King found himselfdrawing the girl into conversation even though every word, or atleast every other word, jangled discordantly upon his culturednerves. It seemed beyond the pale of remotest possibility that anyhuman being could mispronounce so many words, at least so it seemedto Lieutenant King, and at the same time possess such tonalqualities of voice that it became a pleasure to listen to hermurder the English language; and so, when they had reached theranch house he managed to monopolize her.

Her father had wanted to send a couple of men out after herhorse, but she had objected, saying that "the ol' fool" would comein at feeding time, and if he didn't it would be good riddanceanyway; but while they were discussing the matter the horsesuddenly appeared galloping down the very hill from which Wichitahad come a few moments before.

"What in tarnation's the matter with thet cayuse anyways?"demanded Billings. "Acts most like he'd seed a silver tip, or aghost."

The horse was running rapidly toward the ranch, occasionallycasting a backward look toward the hilltop. Wichita Billings knewperfectly what Buckskin had seen.

"Reckon as how you fellers better ride up there," said Billingsto the two hands, "an' see what all might be there."

"They ain't nothin' there," said Wichita. "Didn't I jest comefrom there? The ol' son-of-a-gun's been actin' thet away allday—he's jest plumb loco."

So that was the end of that, much to the girl's relief, andWichita resumed her talk with the officer; an experience which sheenjoyed, for she was avid to learn, and she knew that the averageman or woman of the frontier could teach her little along the linestoward which her ambition lay. On several occasions she had metcultured men—men who had stopped at her father's Kansas farm,or at the ranch since they came to Arizona—and she had beenvividly conscious of a difference between them and the sort ofpeople to whose society she was accustomed.

From them she had derived her first appreciation of theexistence of a thing called conversation and a knowledge of itsbeauty and its value and its rarity. She had been quick to realizeher own lack of conversational ability and ambitious enough todream of improvement; but dreaming was about as far as she couldgo. What few books and magazines and newspapers filtered to herremote home she devoured eagerly and they taught her many things,though usually overdrawn. She learned new words, the meanings ofwhich she usually guessed shrewdly enough, for she possessed nodictionary, but there was nothing or no one to teach her how topronounce either the new words or the old, so that she was neveractively aware that she mispronounced them and only vaguelydisturbed when she listened to the conversation of a person likeLieutenant King. In truth, when she gave the matter any thought,she was more inclined to regret his weird pronunciation of suchcommon words as "Injun" and "hoss" than to question her own. It wasthe things he spoke of and the pleasant intonation of his culturedvoice that delighted her. Lieutenant King was asking her aboutherself, which didn't interest her at all, and how long she hadlived in Arizona. "Goin' on five year," she replied, "an' I reckonyou jes' come out with that last bunch o' shave-tails at the post,didn't you?"

He flushed, for he had not realized how apparent were his youthand the newness of his uniform. "Yes," he said, "I graduated inJune and I only joined my regiment a few weeks ago."

That seemed a very remote country to Wichita Billings. In hermind it raised a picture of a pink area on a map, bounded on threesides by dotted lines and on the fourth by wavy lines. It had neverconnected itself in her consciousness with a place that people camefrom; it was a pink area on a map and nothing more. Now itcommenced to take on the semblance of reality.

"Why Massachusetts, of course. I've never been there," and untilsupper time she kept him to his pleasurable task of talking abouthome, of his people, of their ways, of the great things that themen of Massachusetts had accomplished in the history of theseUnited States of America.

Never, thought Lieutenant King, had he had so altogether awonderful audience, so perfect an afternoon; and Chita, drinking inevery word, asking many questions, was thrilled and entertained asshe had never been before, so much so that she almost forgot thesavage Apache waiting there alone upon the sun-scorched hill. Butshe did not quite forget him. She knew that she could do nothinguntil after dark, for there was not a reasonable excuse she couldoffer for leaving the ranch, and had there been she was quiteconfident that Lieutenant King would have insisted upon goingalong. The idea made her smile as she tried to picture the surpriseof the young officer should she conduct him to the hilltop into thepresence of the painted savage waiting there.

XVI. — TO SPIRIT LAND

IT was quite dark when Wichita Billings led anunsaddled pony out of the pasture and toward the hill where she hadleft Shoz-Dijiji. She had difficulty in escaping the notice of thesentry that had been posted near the corral, but she succeeded,though she was still fearful that some keen-eared Indian veteranmight yet hear the soft footfalls of the unshod animal. A shortdistance from the corral she mounted the pony and continued on herway, over her shoulder a canteen of water and in one hand a bag offood. In her heart she knew that she was doing a dangerous and afoolish thing, but gratitude urged her as well as the knowledgethat she had given her word. By day it had seemed less difficult totrust that big, handsome brave; but by night it was easy to recallthat he was, after all, a cruel, crafty "Cheeracow." She loosenedthe Colt in its holster, holding the halter rope and bag of food inone hand, determined to be prepared should the worst eventuate; andthen, quite suddenly, out of the darkness ahead, a hundred yardsfrom the base of the hill toward which she was riding, loomed thefigure of a man.

The Apache laughed. She handed him the canteen and the food andthe end of the halter rope.

"Mebbyso sometime he need Apache friend, eh? Wichita friend.Shoz-Dijiji friend. Shoz-Dijiji like you very much. You kind.Shoz-Dijiji no forget, never."

Without another word the Apache leaped to the back of the ponyand rode away into the night and the darkness. Wichita Billingscrept back to her father's home. That night she dreamed thatLieutenant King and Shoz-Dijiji were fighting to the death and thatshe stood there watching them, unable to interfere, equally unableto determine which one she wished to see victorious.

Riding northwest in the direction of Cibicu Creek shortly afterdawn the following morning Shoz-Dijiji, his eyes always on thealert, saw a slender column of smoke arising from a far mountaintopin the southwest. Stopping, he watched it for several minutes andduring that time it remained a steady column of smoke. It carriedits message across the desolate waste to Shoz-Dijiji as it did toother scattered warriors of the six tribes, and Shoz-Dijiji reinedhis pony toward the southwest.

The Apache kept to the hills and to the trailless places as muchas possible, for he knew that the whole world was full of enemiessearching for him and his kind, searching with field glasses andwith rifles; and he knew, too, that those who were not searchingfor him would shoot him on sight even more quickly.

As he rode his thoughts often returned to the white girl who hadbefriended him, but more often did they reach ahead across thebroken country to embrace the lithe young figure of Ish-kay-naywith the laughing eyes and the black hair. He knew that she wouldbe disappointed but that she would wait. She would not have to waitlong, he promised himself, for what he had accomplished once hecould accomplish again. Perhaps this time he would takeGian-nah-tah and some of the other young braves with him. Togetherthey could round up many horses in northern Chihuahua orSonora.

Toward noon, ascending a slight acclivity, Shoz-Dijiji wassuddenly confronted by the head and shoulders of a white man asthey topped the ridge from the opposite side. Just for an instantthe two faced one another. The Apache saw the surprise and fearthat swept into the eyes of the pindah lickoyee, saw him turn andvanish.

Dismounting, the Indian led his pony cautiously forward towardthe crest of the ridge; ready in his right hand was hissix-shooter, alert his ears, his eyes, his every sense. Beyond thatsummit he knew there was a precipitous hillside, dropping to thebottom of a canyon. A man on foot might scale it, but it was noplace to remain and fight, for there was little footing and nocover. These things his knowledge of the spot told him, assuringhim that it would be safe to approach the edge of the declivity andreconnoiter, as the white-eyed one must by this time be at thebottom of the canyon.

Cautiously Shoz-Dijiji peered over the edge, several yards fromthe spot at which the man had disappeared, knowing as he did thatif the latter was waiting to fire at him that his attention wouldbe directed upon the spot from which he had discovered the Indianand not even a few yards to the right or to the left; but there wasno one waiting to fire at Shoz-Dijiji. At the foot of the canyonwall lay a young white man—quite motionless he lay in acrumpled heap. A few yards away, tied to a stunted bush, was asaddled pony. Shoz-Dijiji remounted and riding a hundred yards upthe rim of the canyon zigzagged down its steep side. The man stilllay where he had fallen as Shoz-Dijiji approached him and reined inhis pony. The Apache dismounted and stooped to examine the white,first removing the other's revolver from its holster. The man wasyoung, twenty perhaps. He was not dead, as the Indian had at firstthought likely, for the canyon wall was high and steep and therewere rocks at its base, and it appeared evident that the man hadfallen the full distance.

Shoz-Dijiji stood looking at his helpless enemy. His eyesappraised his find in terms of loot; there was a good Colt and manyrounds of ammunition, and he had seen a rifle resting in its bootalong the side of the tethered pony. Many were the otherpossessions of the white-eyed one that aroused the cupidity of theswart savage. Shoz-Dijiji fingered the hilt of his hunting knife, akeen butcher knife made in Connecticut for no more sanguinaryservice than slicing roasts in some quiet New England kitchen. Howeasy it would be to slit the throat of the hated pindah lickoyeeand appropriate his belongings.

It was while Shoz-Dijiji was thinking these thoughts that theyoung man opened his eyes and looked up into the stern, paintedface of the red man. Instinctively the youth reached for his Colt,realized that it was gone, recognized it then in the hands of theIndian, and closed his eyes in despair. He felt sick and he knewthat he was badly injured by the fall, how badly he could onlyguess. He had been without water for two days, he was hopelesslylost, and now that the end had come he was not sure but that afterall it was something of a relief. That which caused him thegreatest apprehension was his knowledge of the possible manner ofhis death at the hands of one of these human fiends. His very soulshuddered and shrank from the torture that he knew might be instore for him. Shoz-Dijiji looking down at him recalled his promiseto the white girl. He turned to continue his journey, knowing thatdeath must surely overtake the white, and then he stopped. Theyoung man, hearing him move away, had opened his eyes again. He sawthe Apache rein in his pony, hesitate, and then wheel back towardhim. Again he dismounted at his side, stooped down and felt of hislegs lifting them, examining them. He put an arm beneath theyouth's shoulders and lifted him to his feet. To the great surpriseof the white man he found that he could stand, that his body wasnot broken in any place. The Indian helped him to walk to his ponyand lifted him into the saddle. Then he offered him his canteen,for he had seen that the youth's was empty and, too, he had seen inhis drawn face, in his swollen lips, the signs of thirst. The boyseized the canteen greedily and placed it to his lips. Shoz-Dijijipermitted him a brief swallow and then took the water from him. Nowall fear had left the white man.

"Me Chihuicahui!" said Shoz-Dijiji fiercely, proudly, tappinghis great chest, knowing that the whites knew the fighting, warliketribes by that name.

"Come!" commanded the Apache. He urged his pony up the canyonand the steep zigzag trail to the summit. When the white hadreached his side the Indian asked, "You savvy Billings ranch?"

Shoz-Dijiji pointed eastward and a little north to where a dim,blue butte was barely visible behind its veil of haze.

"Billings ranch there," he said. "Mebbyso one march." He tookthe other's empty canteen and poured the remaining water from hisown into it. He emptied the cartridges from the chambers of, thewhite's revolver and rifle into his palm and handed the emptyweapons back to their owner; then he wheeled his pony and canteredaway. Shoz-Dijiji was taking no chances on the honor of a whiteman—he knew them too well.

For a long time the young man sat looking after his benefactor,his face reflecting the bewilderment that filled his thoughts.

"Well, ding bust my ornery hide!" he remarked, presently, andturned his horse toward the dim, blue butte beyond the horizon.

So, did Shoz-Dijiji the Be-don-ko-he fulfill his promise to thewhite girl who had befriended him.

Late that afternoon he lay up for a few hours at a place wherethere was water and shortly after dark, when he had resumed hisway, he came upon the first signs of the southward-boundrenegades—a broad, well-marked trail, and over it the spoorof cavalry, pressing close behind. In a few miles, by a rocky hill,he found evidences of an engagement and in the moonlight he readthe story writ clear upon the ground, in the dust, among theboulders, of the Apache rear guard that had waited here and stoppedthe advancing soldiers until the main body of the Indians had movedto safety among the rough hills. He guessed that his people hadpassed through those hills the previous afternoon and that now,under cover of darkness, they were crossing the valley upon theopposite side with the soldiers of the white-eyes in closepursuit.

Farther on again he came upon a place where the Apaches hadcommenced to break up into small parties and scatter, but there wasthe older trail of the herd that moved steadily on toward theborder. Shoz-Dijiji judged that it was two days ahead of the mainbody, doubtless being pushed on toward safety by hard-riding youthsand that it would win the border long before the troops.

During the night he heard shots far, far ahead; the soldiers hadcaught up with one of the scattering bands, or perhaps the Apacheshad prepared an ambush for them. The firing lasted for a long time,grew dimmer and then ceased—a running fight, musedShoz-Dijiji, restless that he was not there. Night fighting wasrare; the soldiers must be pressing his people closely.

It was a hard night for Shoz-Dijiji, urging on his tired mount,constantly on the alert for the enemy, chafing under the consequentdelay; but at last the day dawned as he emerged upon the southernslope of the mountain range and overlooked the broad valley acrosswhich his people should have passed during the night. Far away,near the base of the opposite mountains he saw several columns ofdust, but whether they were caused by Apaches or soldiers he couldnot be sure, though it was doubtless the latter, since the Indianshad broken up into small bands that would make little dust.

A few minutes later he came upon the scene of last night'sbattle. It was marked by the bodies of three cavalry horses, emptycartridge shells, some military accouterment, an Apachehead-bandanna. As he rode across the spot where the engagement hadbeen fiercest his eye took in every detail of the field and he wassure that there had been no ambush here, but that his people hadbeen overtaken or surprised. It was not such a place as an Apachewar chief would choose to make a stand against an enemy. He wasmoving on again when something arrested his attention. Alwayssuspicious, instantly on the defensive, he wheeled about to facethe direction from which there had come to his ears the faintest ofsounds. What was it that had broken the silence of this desertedfield of death?

Revolver ready, he waited, listening, for a repetition of thesound, his eyes fixed upon a little clump of bushes two hundredyards away. Again, very faintly, it came to his ears, the soundthat had at first attracted his attention, a low moan, vibrant withsuffering.

Shoz-Dijiji wheeled his pony and rode diagonally up the side ofthe hill toward a point where he might overlook the whole field andobtain a view of the ground behind those bushes. If danger lurkedthere he would know it before he came too close. Fools rush in, butnot an Apache.

From his point of vantage he saw a figure huddled upon theground and recognized it instantly as an Indian. Nowhere else wasthere a sign of life. Still cautiously, he rode slowly down towardthe figure and as he approached; he saw that it was a woman, lyingwith her face buried in the hollow of an arm. Already, even beforehe had come close enough to dismount, he recognized somethingfamiliar in the contours of that slender body.

Leaping from his mount he ran forward and kneeled beside thewoman. Very gently he put an arm beneath her and turned her over.Hot blood gushed against his naked arm. His heart stood still as helooked down into the face of Ish-kay-nay. Her eyes were halfclosed; she scarcely breathed; only her feeble moans betokened thather poor clay still clung tenaciously to the last, fast ravellingstrand of life.

"Ish-kay-nay! My little Ish-kay-nay!" Shoz-Dijiji raised hiscanteen and poured a few drops of water between her lips. The actrecalled the girl who had given him the canteen, and, too, thatrecalled something else—words that Geronimo had once spokento him. "Wait," the old war chief had said, "until they have killedyour women; then you will have the right to speak."

The savage soul of Shoz-Dijiji rose in protest against thecruelty, the wantonness of this act. What if it had beenperpetrated during the darkness of night? What if it might havebeen but a chance shot? Did not Shoz-Dijiji well know that therevealing light of day, or her sex, would not have protectedIsh-kay-nay? Had he not seen the soldiers fire into the tepeeswhere the women and children were?

Revived by the water, Ish-kay-nay slowly opened her eyes andlooked into his face. Her lips moved in a low whisper:"Shoz-Dijiji, I am coming!" she said.

The great, dark eyes of Ish-kay-nay opened wider with the returnof full consciousness as she gazed wonderingly into the face of herlover.

"I thought that Shoz-Dijiji was dead and I did not care thenwhat happened to me. It made my father happy." The effort to speaksent the blood gushing again from the wound in her breast andShoz-Dijiji tried to check the flow, to stay the hand of death. Shetried to speak again. Slowly, haltingly the words came. "TellIsh-kay-nay—that you—are not angry,Shoz-Dijiji—that you—still love—Ish-kay-nay."

"Ish-kay-nay did right," he said. "Only Juh did wrong.Shoz-Dijiji loves Ish-kay-nay. Shoz-Dijiji will kill Juh!" For along time the girl lay silently in his arms, her breathing so faintthat at times he thought that it had ceased. Terrible was theanguish of Shoz-Dijiji—silent anguish, all the more terriblebecause there was no outward manifestation of it —as helooked down into the half-closed, dimming eyes of littleIsh-kay-nay.

Once she rallied and looked up at him. "My Shoz-Dijiji," shewhispered, and then: "Hold me close!" There was fear in those threewords. Never before had Shoz-Dijiji heard a note of fear in thevoice of Ish-kay-nay. Very gently the savage warrior pressed theslender body closer. There was a long sigh and Ish-kay-nay wentlimp in his embrace.

Shoz-Dijiji, war chief among the Be-don-ko-he, buried his facein the soft neck and a single, choking sob convulsed his greatframe.

XVII. — THE TRAIL AND ITSEND

DEEP in the mountains in a lone cave Shoz-Dijijiburied Ish-kay-nay, covered the soft contours of the girlish bodywith hard, cold rocks, piled more rocks before the entrance to thecave until it was choked; buried light and love and happiness inthe grave with his sweetheart.

There, beside her grave he spent two days and twonights—days of mourning, nights of prayer. There he killedthe pony he had ridden, that Ish-kay-nay might find a mount readyto carry her to the spirit world. This he did, though she was nowarrior, nor a great chief, because to Shoz-Dijiji she was morethan either. All the hoddentin he possessed he had sprinkled uponher before he covered her dear form, and with her he had buried hismost sacred things: his tzi-daltai and his phylactery of buckskinwith its precious contents, even the izze-kloth that Nan-ta-do-tashhad blessed for him.

Upon the third day, alone, on foot, with no medicine to protecthim from evil spirits or from the weapons or machinations of hisenemies, he emerged from the hills, cruel, relentless, starksavage, and turned his face toward the south upon the trail of Juh.For two days he had been without food and for one without water,yet he did not suffer. Forgotten were the sufferings of the fleshin the greater anguish of the soul. Terrible were the days thatfollowed. Scant was food, scant was water; long and hideous werethe marches, with only hate and vengeance to buoy his spirits, togoad on his flagging muscles. He lashed his legs with switches ofmesquite until they bled; he ate lizards and snakes and prairiemice; he drank stinking water when he drank at all, for there weresoldiers everywhere, at every spring and water hole, upon everytrail, and he must go on, for beyond the soldiers was Juh,somewhere to the south, somewhere in that vast labyrinth ofmountain and desert. No turned stone, no bent twig, no downpressedbit of grass escaped his eye, and each told its story of thepassing of the Apaches, of the pursuit of the soldiers. He passedthrough the line of troops at last, not a difficult thing for anApache in such rough country as this, and the spoor of the Ned-nibecame plainer. He pushed on and discovered soldiers once moreahead of him. Their trail came in from the northeast and he couldsee that they had been moving rapidly, without pack animals. Thatnight he passed them, a single troop of lean, gaunt fighting men,and he saw them cross the international boundary and enterMexico.

By dawn he was a good ten miles in advance of them when hebecame aware of something moving just ahead of him. He saw it dimlyfrom the bottom of a swale as it topped the rise above him. Hemoved even more cautiously than before, but the figure ahead madeno noise either. It was a man on foot and Shoz-Dijiji knew that itmust be an Indian; but there were enemies among the Indians as wellas among the white men. This might be a Navajo scout and if itwere—a terrible expression of cruel anticipation crossed thefeatures of the Black Bear, the nearest he had come to smiling formany a bitter day.

When dawn came suddenly upon them Shoz-Dijiji was looking downfrom another hilltop upon the figure of an Indian. It was anApache, but the red head band proclaimed him a scout in the serviceof the pindah lickoyee; also the quick eyes of Shoz-Dijijidiscovered that the man was an old acquaintance from the WhiteMountain tribe. The Black Bear hailed him. The scout turned withready carbine, but Shoz-Dijiji was behind a boulder.

The other lowered the muzzle of his carbine and Shoz-Dijijistepped from behind the boulder.

"There are Ned-ni a few miles ahead," he said, "but Juh is notwith them. I talked with them two days ago. I am going to talk withthem again. The soldiers will not stop this time at the border.They have orders to follow Juh and Geronimo until they catch them,no matter where they go. This I was going to tell the Ned-ni."

The man shook his head. "No. I return to tell the fool whitechief that the Ned-ni have gone in another direction."

"Good!" said Shoz-Dijiji. "But you need not go on. I will tellthe Ned-ni where the soldiers are and what orders they have beengiven. Perhaps they will wait and meet the soldiers. There is aplace where the trail runs between the steep walls of a canyon.There the soldiers will be cautious against an attack, but justbeyond, where it looks safe again they will be off their guard andthere the Ned-ni might wait for them—if you will lead themthere. Eh?"

"I will lead them there," he said. Shoz-Dijiji trotted on andthe White Mountain Apache turned back to lead the hated white men,that he served, into an ambush. Shocking! Dishonorable!Disgraceful! Yes, of course; but many a civilized man wears adecoration today for betraying the confidence of the enemy. Itmakes a difference who does it—that is all.

Before noon Shoz-Dijiji overtook the Ned-ni and delivered hismessage after first discovering that Juh was not with them. Theywere surprised to see him, for there were many of them who reallybelieved that he was dead. There were only eight warriors and abouttwice as many women and children. The latter the sub-chief sentahead while the warriors he disposed in strategic positions at thepoint where the ambush was to occur, and along their trail came "B"Troop of the —th Cavalry, protected by the Apache scoutsahead and upon the flanks. With his troop rode Lieutenant SamuelAdams King, eager for his first brush with the hostiles, his stayat the Billings ranch having been abruptly terminated the verynight that Wichita had led the ewe-necked roan out to Shoz-Dijiji.An hour later a courier had come with orders for Lieutenant King torejoin the troop with his detachment, and there had followed daysof hard riding in an effort to intercept the hostiles before theycrossed the boundary into Mexico.

Lieutenant King had preferred the company of Wichita Billings tofutile scouting after Indians that one never saw, but this wasdifferent. For two days they had been hot on the trail of therenegades, with an engagement constantly imminent, and the youngblood of the subaltern coursed hot in anticipation of a brush withthe enemy. For four years he had slaved and sweated at the Point inpreparation for this, and he prayed now that he would not becheated out of it at the last minute by the dirty, sneakingSiwashes. Gad! If the cowards would only stand and fight once!

Nasty place for an ambush, thought Lieutenant King, as thetroops entered a narrow, steep-walled canyon. Good thing the "oldman" had sent flankers along the crest on either side.

Beastly dusty! Rotten idea, to make the second lieutenant ridein rear of the outfit. Some day; he would reviseRegulations—lots of things wrong with them. He could see thatalready and he had only joined up a few weeks before. Now, this wasbetter. They were through that canyon and the dust had a chance toblow somewhere else than down his throat, up his nose and into hiseyes.

Crack! Pin-n-ng! Crack! Crack! Pin-n-ng! "Left front into line!Gallop!MARCH! CHARGE!" The high voice of the "old man" roseshrilly above the crack of the hostile rifles, the wild Apache warwhoops, the cursing of men, the screams of hit horses.

A ragged, yelling line of blue galloped among the great bouldersfrom behind which the nine warriors poured their deadly fire, andas the hostiles fell back to other cover the captain dismounted histroop and sent one platoon in on foot while the horses werewithdrawn to better cover. It was no place for cavalryaction—that is why the sub-chief had chosen it.

Lieutenant King found himself crawling along on his belly fromrock to rock. Bullets spit at him. He raised himself occasionallyand fired, though he seldom saw anything to fire at—a puff ofsmoke—a bronze shoulder—once a painted face. He was atthe left of the line and he thought that by moving farther to theleft he could pass the hostiles' right and reach a position wherehe could enfilade them. Obsessed by this idea, overwhelmed by thesheer joy of battle, he forgot everything else. The men of his owncommand no longer existed. He was fighting alone. It was his firstfight and he was having the time of his young life. He worked hisway rapidly ahead and to the left.

From the right of the line his captain caught a fleeting glimpseof him and shouted after him. "MISTER King!" he screamed."Where in hell are you going? Come back here, you blankety, blank,blank fool!" But in his heart the old man thrilled with pride asMISTER King crawled on toward the hostile line, the commandsof his superior lost in the din of the engagement and theexcitement of the moment.

Just ahead of him King saw two large rocks, each capable ofsheltering a couple of men. They stood about two feet apart and ifhe could reach them they would offer him almost perfect protectionfrom the enemy's fire while at the same time they commanded hisright flank.

What Lieutenant King did not see was the painted savagecrouching behind the one farthest to the left, nor did he know thatthis same warrior had been patiently watching and awaiting hisadvance.

Reaching the opening between the two King crawled cautiously on,his eyes, his whole attention turning to the right toward theposition of the enemy. He had reached a position where he couldlook around behind the right-hand rock and see several of thewarriors lying behind other sheltering boulders to his right; andat that instant a heavy body fell upon him, while simultaneouslythe captain gave the command to charge.

The troopers leaped to their feet and, yelling like the Apachesthemselves, stumbled forward among the thick strewn boulders.King's carbine was torn from his grasp. He struggled to freehimself from the clutching fingers and the great weight upon him,and managed to turn over onto his back. Glaring down upon him weretwo savage eyes set in a hideously painted face. A great butcherknife hovered above his breast. He could hear the shouts of hisfellows drawing nearer.

The knife halted, poised in mid-air. He saw the Apache stareintently into his face for an instant and then look up in thedirection from which the soldiers were charging. The lieutenantstruggled, but the man who held him was a giant in strength. Kingrecalled that some fool had told him that one white man was a matchfor ten Indians. He wished that he might relinquish his presentposition to his informant.

Suddenly the brave yanked him to his feet as easily as thoughKing had been a little child, and the officer saw two of the men ofhis own platoon running toward them. Backing slowly up the hillsidethe warrior kept King directly in front of him. The other hostileshad fallen back rapidly, leaving two of their number dead. Therewas only one other Apache retreating up the hillside with King'scaptor and he was above them now and moving swiftly.

The troopers dared not fire on the brave who was dragging Kingaway with him for fear of hitting the officer, and when the otherApache reached the hilltop and found shelter he opened fire onthem, forcing them to cover. A moment later King was dragged overthe brow of the hill close to where the other Indian was coveringthe retreat of his fellow. Here he was relieved of his fieldglasses and cartridge belt, his carbine and revolver having alreadybeen appropriated by his captor.

"Why?" demanded the Ned-ni, an ugly look distorting his paintedface. "Juh right. Shoz-Dijiji's heart turn to water in face ofpindah lickoyee. Good! I kill him." He turned his rifle towardKing. There was a flash and a burst of flame and smoke; but theydid not come from the rifle of the Ned-ni. He was dead.

King had understood no word of what had passed between the twoApaches, and he had only seen that one of them had prevented theother from killing him, but that he did not understand either. Noother eyes than his had seen Shoz-Dijiji kill the Ned-ni, for thehill hid them from the sight of all others upon the field ofbattle. Now his captor turned toward him.

King nodded, puzzled. "She like you," continued the Apache. "Mefriend white girl. No kill her friend. You savvy?"

"Well, I'll be damned!" ejaculated Lieutenant King. "How did youknow me? I never saw you before."

"No, but I see you. Apache see everything, know everything. Yousee white girl again you tell her Shoz-Dijiji no can return herpony. Him dead."

"You tell her by and by. Shoz-Dijiji no can send her pony back;he send back her white-eyed lover instead. You savvy?"

"Yes, go ahead; and you needn't think I'll try to get you afterwhat you've done for me," and he glanced at the dead Ned-ni besidethem. "But, say, before you go won't you tell me how and where andwhen you got a pony from Wichita Billings?"

"Me no savvy," stated Shoz-Dijiji, and turning, he leapedswiftly down the hillside to disappear a moment later from thesight of the astonished subaltern.

As Shoz-Dijiji had vanished among the hills so had the otherwarriors, and as the commanding officer reassembled his troop acrestfallen second lieutenant walked down a hillside and approachedhis captain. The "old man" was furious at himself because he hadridden directly into an ambush, because he had lost some good menand several horses, but principally because the hostiles hadslipped through his fingers with the loss of only two of theirnumber. And so he vented his spleen upon the unfortunate King, whohad never guessed until that moment how much contempt, sarcasm andinsult could be crowded into that single word "Mister."

He was relieved of duty and ordered into arrest, released andreturned to duty, three times in the ensuing fifteen minutes afterhe rejoined the troop. His spirit was raw and sore, and heconceived for his superior a hatred that he knew would survive thislife and several lives to come; but that was because he had beenbut a few weeks under the "old man." Before that campaign was overLieutenant King would have ridden jubilantly into the mouth of Hellfor him. But just then he did not know that his captain's flow ofvitriolic invective and censure but masked the fear the older manhad felt when he saw the youth's utter disregard of danger leadinghim straight into the jaws of death.

The old captain knew a brave man when he saw one and he knew,too, that the steadying influence of experience in active servicewould make a great Indian fighter of such as his second had provenhimself to be, and in the depth of his heart he was very proud ofthe boy, though he would have rather his tongue had been cut outthan to admit it in words. It was his way to win loyalty by deeds,with the result that his men cursed him—and worshippedhim.

In the light of what Lieutenant King had heard of the characterand customs of Apaches he found it difficult to satisfactorilyexplain the magnanimity of the very first one it had been hisfortune to encounter. He found his preconceived estimate of Apachecharacter hanging in mid-air with all its props kicked from underit, and all he could do was wonder.

Shoz-Dijiji was wondering, too. He knew that he had not acted uponimpulse and perhaps that was why his action troubled him inretrospect. He tried to be sorry that he had not slain the hatedpindah lickoyee, yet, when he thought of the happiness of the whitegirl when she learned that her lover had been spared, he was gladthat he had not killed him. Too fresh was the wound of his owngreat grief to permit him to be callous to the possible grief ofanother in like circumstance, and in this case that other was afriend who had been kind to him. Yes, Shoz-Dijiji was satisfiedthat he had done right. He would have no regrets. As for theNed-ni—well, he had earned death by his insult.

Following the fight with "B" Troop the little band of Ned-nibroke up once again into still smaller parties and scattered byones and twos, so that there remained nothing in the way of a trailfor the soldiers to follow. Shoz-Dijiji moved directly south intothe Sierra Madre, searching for Juh. To every familiar haunt of theApache went the silent, terrible figure, searching, ever searching;his sorrowing heart like lead in his bronze breast, his soul atorment of consuming fires of hate.

From many a commanding peak he scanned the country north andsouth, east and west, through the field glasses he had taken fromthe young officer, and then one day he came upon the spoor of anApache in the soft earth beside a bubbling spring. You or I mightnot have been able to discern that a man had stepped there, butShoz-Dijiji saw the dim print of an Apache war moccasin. He pluckedsome of the down-pressed grass and breaking it knew from thecondition of the juices within that a man had stood there on thepreceding day, and then he sought and quickly found the directionof the other's trail, leading toward the south.

Not again, no matter where it went, did Shoz-Dijiji lose sightof the spoor of him whom he followed. Early the next morning heleft it momentarily while he ascended a peak and scanned themountains to the south. Ah, at last! In the distance, tenuous,vapory blue, almost invisible rose a tiny waft of smoke. Indians!Apaches, doubtless. Ned-ni, perhap Juh! Be good, O Usen! Let it beJuh!

It was noon when Shoz-Dijiji passed silently and unseen thesentries of the Ned-ni and stalked majestically into the camp. Hisquick eyes took in every detail of the scene. He saw two of Juh'ssquaws and several of his children, but Juh he did not see. But Juhmust be near. His long search was ended.

Warriors gathered about him, asking many questions; surprised tosee him in the flesh, whom they had thought dead. He told them ofthe fight with the white soldiers, of the scattering of the balanceof the hostiles; that the troops might be following them down intoMexico. He did not ask for Juh; that was not his way. He waited.Perhaps Juh would come soon, but he was impatient. A terriblethought smote him.

"No," they told him, "two warriors, whose bodies we broughtalong and buried, and a squaw was missing." They did not mentionher name. Seldom do the Apaches call their dead by name. But therewas no need—Shoz-Dijiji knew that they spoke ofIsh-kay-nay.

"Juh—he is not here," remarked Shoz-Dijiji, casually. Thatwas as near as he would come to asking where Juh was.

"He is hunting in the mountains," said a warrior, waving aninformatory hand in the direction of a rugged ridge above thecamp.

Shoz-Dijiji walked away. He could not wait. He went from shelterto shelter, talking, but only to throw off suspicion, for he knewthat some of them must guess why he was here. When he could, heslipped away among the trees and moved rapidly up the shoulder ofthe ridge, diagonally that he might cross the spoor of the man hesought, nor had he long to go before he picked up the imprint of agreat moccasin, such a moccasin as Juh might wear.

A human tiger, then, he tracked his prey. Up ruggedmountainsides ran the trail, across rocky hogbacks where none butan Apache eye might trace it, down into dank ravines and up againalong the bold shoulder of a mighty peak. It was there thatShoz-Dijiji heard something moving just beyond the curve of themountain ahead of him.

He stopped and listened. The thing was approaching, already hehad interpreted it, the sound of moccasined feet moving through lowbrush. Shoz-Dijiji waited. Two seconds, three, five. The figure ofa man loomed suddenly before him. It was Juh. The end of thehate-trail had been reached. Juh was returning to camp.

The chief saw and recognized Shoz-Dijiji instantly. He was armedwith bow and arrows and a knife. Shoz-Dijiji carried these and arevolver in addition. The carbine he had cached before he enteredthe Ned-ni camp.

"I, Shoz-Dijiji, have come to kill a great liar. I have come tokill a great coward who cannot protect his women. I have come tokill Juh."

"You cannot kill Juh," said the older man. "Strong is themedicine of Juh. The bullets of the white-eyes cannot enter thebody of Juh—they will bounce back and kill you.Nakay-do-klunni made this medicine himself. Go away, before itkills you."

"Shoz-Dijiji will throw away all his weapons except his knife,"said the young warrior. "Let Juh do likewise. Then, with his knifeShoz-Dijiji will cut the vile heart of Juh out of his breast."

Juh was a big, strong man. He was afraid of no one in ahand-to-hand encounter, so the other's proposal met with instantapproval. With a sneer he tossed aside his bow and arrows andShoz-Dijiji similarly discarded all his weapons but his knife. Likegreat fighting cats the two drew closer. Juh taunted and insultedhis adversary, after the code Apachean. He applied the vilestepithets to which he could lay his naturally vile tongue to themother of Shoz-Dijiji, to his father, to his grandmother, to hisgrandfather, to all his forebears back to the first one, whose dam,according to Juh, had been a mangy coyote; then he vilified thecoyote.

Shoz-Dijiji, grim, terrible, silent, crept stealthily toward hislifelong enemy. Juh mistook his silence for an indication of fear.He rushed upon the son of Geronimo thinking to bear him down by thesuddenness and weight of his bull-like charge. His plunging knifewas struck aside and the two closed, but Shoz-Dijiji gave back nosingle step. With as great effect Juh might have charged one of theancient pines that soughed above them.

Each seeking to sink his blade in the flesh of the other, theysurged and strained to and fro upon the rocky shoulder of themountain. Below them yawned an abyss whose sheer granite walldropped straight a thousand feet to the jagged rocks that formedthe debris at its base.

Shoz-Dijiji, the muscles rolling beneath his copper hide, forcedhis knife hand, inch by inch, downward upon the straining, sweatingwarrior. Juh tried to break away, but a mighty arm heldhim—held him as he had been bound with thongs of rawhide.

In his efforts to escape, Juh dragged his antagonist nearer andnearer the edge of that awful precipice waiting silently behindhim. Juh did not see, but Shoz-Dijiji saw, and did not care. Ratherthan permit his enemy to escape the Black Bear would go over withhim—to death; perhaps to oblivion, perhaps to Ish-kay-nay.What did it matter? Closer and closer came the sharp point to thebreast of Juh. "Speak the truth, Juh, for you are about to die."Shoz-Dijiji spoke for the first time since the duel had begun. "Saythat Shoz-Dijiji is no pindah lickoyee."

"Juh speaks the truth," panted the other; "You are white." TheNed-ni, straining with every ounce of strength that he possessed,slowly pushed away the menacing blade. He surged suddenly to theright, almost hurling them both to the ground. It was then that herealized how close they had been to the edge of the abyss. Apebble, struck by his foot, rolled a hand breadth and dropped overthe edge. Juh shuddered and tried to draw away, but Shoz-Dijiji,determined never to relinquish his hold until his enemy was dead,even if he must die with him, dragged him relentlessly to the vergeagain. There they toppled for an instant, Juh trying to pull backand the Black Bear straining to precipitate them both to the rocksbelow. Now Shoz-Dijiji's feet were upon the very edge of theprecipice and his back was toward it. His time had come! Surgingbackward he threw his feet out over the abyss, bringing all hisweight into his effort to drag Juh over with him. The chief of theNed-ni, seeing death staring him in the face, voiced a single,piercing, horrified shriek and hurled himself backward. For aninstant they rocked back and forth upon the brink, and then Juhmanaged to take a backward step and, for the second, they weresaved.

Heaving, straining, dripping sweat that ran down their sleekbodies in rivulets, these men of iron who scarce had ever sweatbefore—so lean their thews and fatless—struggled,turning, twisting, until once again they stood upon the verge ofeternity. This time it was Juh whose back was toward the awfulgulf.

Now Shoz-Dijiji was seeking to push him over the edge. So rapthad each been in this pushing and pulling toward and away from theverge that one might have thought each had forgotten the rigidknife-hand clasped in the grip of the other. Perhaps they had,momentarily; but it was Shoz-Dijiji who remembered first. With atwisting, sudden wrench, he tore his wrist free from Juh'sgrasp.

"Die, Ned-ni!" he growled, glaring into the eyes of his foe. Hedrove his blade deep into the breast of Juh. "Die! Ish-kay-nay isavenged!"

Again and again the blade sank deep into the heart of the Chiefof the Ned-ni, his arms dropped limp, he reeled and tried to speak,to beg for mercy. Then it was that Shoz-Dijiji, the Be-don-ko-he,put both palms against the bloody chest of his antagonist andpushed him backward. Screaming, Juh toppled from the rocky ledgeand, turning and twisting, his body fell down, down to the jaggedrocks a thousand feet below.

XVIII. — THE WAR DANCE

A YOUNG man dismounted in the yard of the Billingsranch and approached the owner who, following the noonday meal, wastip-tilted in an arm chair against the adobe wall of the building,picking his teeth and conversing with his daughter.

"Got lost. Pretty near cashed in. Reckon I would have ef aSiwash hadn't come along an' give me some water. He told me how toreach your ranch—that was nigh onto three weeksago—then I run into a scoutin' party of reg'lars from thepost an' they took me in with I 'em. I ben in the hospital eversince. Worse off'n I thought I was I reckon."

"Three weeks ago?" mused Billings. "You was tarnation lucky thatSiwash wasn't no Cheeracow. Thet was jest about when they was goin'out."

"Thet's what gets me," said the youth, "hewas aCheeracow. He told me he was, an' not only that, but he was paintedup all right enough for the warpath."

"I reckon you must hev had a touch of fever right then," saidBillings, skeptically.

The other laughed. "No," he said, "I was all right in the head;but I'm here to tell you I was pretty near plumb sick when I stuckmy ol' head up over the top o' that rise an' seen this here hostilelookin' me right in the eye with his ugly, painted mug. Say, I kensee him right now, a-sittin' there on his ewe-neck roan. I did aback flip down thet hill an' pretty near kilt myself for sure." Hegrinned broadly at the recollection.

"Three weeks ago—a ewe-neck roan," soliloquized Billings."Did he have a blaze face?"

Wichita Billings could feel the flush that overspread her faceand she was glad that she was standing a little to the rear of herfather as she listened eagerly to the conversation.

Billings half turned toward his daughter. "Now how in alltarnation did that Siwash git a-holt of that cayuse?" he demanded."Musta took it out o' the c'ral right under the noses o' thosethere soldiers. I missed that critter the next mornin' an' I neverben able to see what in all tarnation become of him. Thet beatsme!"

"Dump your roll off at the bunk house and turn your hoss intothe fust c'ral there," Billings directed. "I'll have the chinkrustle you some grub. You ken go to work in the mornin'."

"What I can't understand," said Billings, when he had come backfrom the kitchen, "is why that Siwash didn't plug that kid."

"Maybe they ain't all bad, Dad," said Wichita, who thought thatshe understood perfectly why Shoz-Dijiji had not killed theboy.

His vengeance accomplished, Shoz-Dijiji was as a lost soulwandering in Purgatory, facing a goalless eternity. He rangednorthern Sonora, a solitary figure, grim, terrible. He avoidedIndians as sedulously as he did Mexicans, for the greatest wrongthat had ever been done him had been committed by the hand of anIndian. He felt that all men were his enemies and that henceforthhe must travel alone. He could not know that the wound, so fresh,so raw, the first hurt that ever had touched his inmost soul, mightbe healed by the patient hand of Time; that though the scarremained the wound would cease to throb.

He lived by the chase, supplemented by an occasional raid whenhe required such luxuries as sugar or tobacco, or necessities suchas salt, flour or ammunition. Upon these occasions he walked boldlyand in the broad light of day into isolated ranch house or villagestore, taking what he would; where he met with interference hekilled, striking swiftly, mercilessly, otherwise he ignored thenatives. They were as the dirt beneath his feet, for was he not anApache, a war chief?

Pride of caste gripped him inflexibly, so that he felt onlycontempt for those who were not Apaches. Even though the words ofJuh were constantly in his mind he pretended that they were not. Hethought of himself more jealously than ever as a pure-bloodedApache; the wicked words of Juh were a lie: "You are white!"

Weeks came and went until they numbered months. "The ApacheDevil" was notorious across Sonora and into Chihuahua. Wholeregiments of Mexican troops were in the field, searching for him;but they never saw him. Strange tales grew up about him. Hepossessed the power of invisibility. He could change himself atwill into a coyote, a rattlesnake, a lion. Every depredation, everymurder was attributed to him, until the crimes upon his soul werelegion.

Slowly the wound was healing. He was surprised, almost hurt, todiscover a growing longing for the companionship of his kind. Histhoughts, now, were more and more often filled with pleasantmemories of Sons-ee-ah-ray, memories of Geronimo, of the otherBe-don-ko-he who were his own people. He wondered how they fared.And then one morning he turned his face northward towardArizona.

Old Nakay-do-klunni, the trouble maker, was dead; the renegades hadreturned to the reservations or been driven in scattered bandsacross the boundary into Mexico. The troops were enjoying awell-earned rest. They were building roads, digging boulders out ofparade grounds, erecting telegraph lines up and down over red-hotmountains and white-hot plains, until an entire troop would nothave rendered out a teacupful of fat. Always there were detachmentsscouting, patrolling.

Lieutenant King commanded a detachment thus engaged. A parched,gaunt, service sergeant was, nominally, second in command. He hadforgotten more about soldiering and Indian fighting than all theshave-tail second lieutenants in the army knew, and LieutenantKing, by way of becoming a good officer, realized this and utilizedthe sergeant for the very purpose for which the "old man" had senthim along—as mentor, guide, instructor. However, the sergeantagreed when Lieutenant King suggested that it might not be a badplan to patrol a little in the direction of Billings ranch, for thesergeant had delicious memories of the prune pies of the Billing'sChinese cook. Arizona nights can be quite the softest, loveliestnights in all the world, and Lieutenant King thought that this wassuch a one as he sat in the dark shade of a great cottonwood beforethe Billings ranch house where he could glimpse the half profile ofthe girl in the light filtering through a window from an oil lampburning within the building. Beyond the girl, down beside thecorrals, twinkled the camp fire of his men and, subdued, therefloated to his ears the sound of voices, laughter, the music of aharmonica.

"There is something I want to ask you, Chita," he said,presently. He had discovered that everyone called her Chita, thatit embarrassed her and everyone within earshot when he addressedher as Miss Billings.

"Shoot," said Chita. He wished that she would not be sodisconcerting. Sitting and looking at that profile that any goddessmight well have envied put one in a mood—a delicious, exaltedmood—but "shoot" and other conversational peculiaritiestended to shatter illusions. He was silent, therefore, rearranginghis thoughts to an altered mood.

King shook his head and grinned. It was no use. "What isconsuming me," he said, "is curiosity."

"That's what killed the cat," she returned, laughing. "It ain'ta good thing to encourage out this away."

"Well, please don't shoot me until you have told me if you knowan Apache called Shoz-Dijiji."

"Yes, why?" He thought her tone suddenly constrained, and henoted how quickly she turned and looked him full in the eyes. Evenin the dark he felt the intensity of her gaze. "We had a littlebrush with them just south of the border," he explained. "Thisfellow captured me. He could easily have killed me. In fact he wasabout to when he seemed to recognize me. He let me go because I wasa friend of yours. He even killed another buck who tried to shootme. He said you had been kind to him."

"Yes," said the girl. "He saved me once from a tin-horn who wastryin' to get fresh. After that I had a chance to help him once.I'm mighty glad I did."

"He said that he could not return your pony because it was dead,but that he would send your friend back alive instead—heseemed to take it for granted that I am your friend."

"'Twasn't such a bad swap at that," laughed the girl. "Thatewe-neck roan was a sort o' ornery critter anyways; but Dad didseem to set a heap o' store by it—anyways after it was gone.I never heered him do anything but cuss it before."

"I wouldn't say that, and I wouldn't give him no chance to thinkabout it at all. I reckon Dad wouldn't be tickled more'n half todeath if he knew I'd give a hoss to an Injun."

"I sure did—I wanted to; but there was really a betterreason than that. This was the whitest Injun I ever see and I owedhim something for what he'd done for me. I couldn't let a Injun bewhiter than me, could I? Listen—I'll tell you all aboutit."

When she had finished she waited, looking up at King for anexpression of his verdict upon her action.

"I think you did right, Chita," he said, "but I also think thatthe less said about it the better. Don't you?"

"I aint been publishin' the matter in no newspapers," shereturned. "You pumped it out of me."

They sat in silence for a long time then, and as King watchedher face, the easy, graceful motions of her lithe body, her slenderfingers, her dainty ankles, he was drawn to her as he had neverbeen drawn to a woman before. He knew her heart and soul must be aswonderful as her face and form; he had caught a fleeting glimpse ofthem as she spoke of Shoz-Dijiji and the loyalty that she owed him.What a wonderful creature she would have made had she been born tosuch an environment of culture and refinement as had surrounded himfrom childhood. He wanted to reach out and touch her, to draw hertoward him, to ask her if he might hope. He was hopelessly,helplessly under the spell of her charms.

"No, not that. Listen to me, Chita. I may offend you—Icertainly don't want to, but I can't sit here and look at you andthen listen to you and not speak."

"I suppose you know that you are a very beautiful girl," hesaid. "Beside your beauty you have character, intelligence, awonderful heart. But—" he hesitated. It was going to be hardto say and he was already regretting that he had started it.

"I haven't any right to say what I started to say to you, Chita;except that I—well, Chita, I think you're the most wonderfulgirl I ever met and I want you to be right in every way."

"I reckon I know what you mean," she said. "We don't talk alike.I know it. You ain't a-goin' to hurt my feelings, because I knowyou ain't makin' fun of me—and I wouldn't even care if youdid, if you'd help me. I was born on a farm in Kansas and whatschool they was was too fer off to go to only a few weeks in thefall and spring. I didn't learn much of nothin' there. Maw diedwhen I was little. Dad learned me all he knew—how to read andwrite a little and figger. If I only had somethin' decent to read,or educated folks to talk to me. I know I got it in me tobe—to be different. If there was only some way."

"There is a way," said King, who had been thinking very hard forthe past several minutes. "There is a way."

"There are some very wonderful women at the post—refined,cultured, educated women, the wife of my troop commander, forinstance. One of them would be glad to have you come there. Anyoneof them would help you. Would you come, Chita?"

"Yes they would. The Captain's wife is an old friend of mymother's. She's been wonderful to me since I joined and I knowshe'd love to have you. These women get terribly lonesome way outhere, especially when their husbands are in the field. You would bea Godsend to Mrs. Cullis."

And that is how it happened that Wichita Billings came to FortThomas as the guest and ward of Margaret Cullis. Her beauty, hereagerness to learn disarmed all criticism, forestalled allridicule—the one thing that Wichita Billings could not havesurvived, the thing that she had feared most. Yet she made so muchfun of her own crude diction that those who might have otherwisefound in her a target for witty thrusts were the first to defendher.

Up out of Sonora came Shoz-Dijiji, searching for his people.With him he brought a dozen ponies and some mules, toll that he hadcollected from the enemy in northern Sonora and southern Arizona.Behind him he left a few smoking piles of embers where homes hadbeen or wagons, a few new corpses, killed without torture, leftwithout mutilation.

The Be-don-ko-he welcomed him without enthusiasm. He took hisplace among them as though he had not been away. The mules he gavefor a great feast and he had presents for Geronimo, Gian-nah-tahand Sons-ee-ah-ray. Ish-kay-nay they did not mention, nor did he.Sorrow, parting, death are but a part of the pathetic tragedy thatmarks the passing of the Indian; they had taken no greater toll ofShoz-Dijiji than of many another of his tribe. Why then should heflaunt his sorrow in the faces of those whose burdens were as greatas his?

Of his warlike deeds, he spoke sparingly, though he was too muchthe Apache brave to ignore them entirely; but there had come wordof his doings out of Mexico and his rating became second to noneamong all the six tribes. Geronimo was very proud of him.

Restless, Shoz-Dijiji wandered much, and often Gian-nah-tahaccompanied him. They hunted together, they visited other tribes.Where there was a great dance or a feast there was Shoz-Dijiji. Onenight he came to the camp of the Cho-kon-en as the warriors weregathering around the council fire, and Na-chi-ta welcomed him andmade a place for him at his side.

"The son of Geronimo has come at a good time," said the chief ofthe Cho-kon-en. "The young men are restless. They want to go outupon the war trail against the pindah lickoyee. Some of them havebeen punished by the soldiers for things which were done by noApache. Always the Apaches are blamed for whatever wrong is done inour land. If there were no white-eyes here we could live in peace.The young men want to fight."

A warrior arose and spoke when the chief had signified that hehad finished. For a long time he narrated the wrongs to which theIndians had been subjected, telling the same old story that theyall knew so well but which never failed to find an eager andsympathetic audience. He urged the warriors to prepare forbattle.

A very old man spoke next. He spoke of the great numbers of thewhite-eyes, of their power and wealth. He advised against takingthe war trail against them.

Thus were several hours consumed and when a vote was taken themajority spoke for war.

"Take this word to Geronimo and the warriors of theBe-don-ko-he," said Na-chi-ta to Shoz-Dijiji, "and ask them if theywill join the Cho-kon-en upon the war trail. We will send runnersto the other tribes and when the war drum sounds we will gatherhere again for a great dance that the izze-nantans may make strongmedicine and the warriors of the six tribes go forth to battleprotected against the weapons of the enemy."

When Shoz-Dijiji returned again to the camp of the Be-don-ko-hehe laid Na-chi-ta's proposition before Geronimo, but the old chiefshook his head.

"My son," he said, "I am an old man. Many times have I been uponthe war trail. Many times have I fought the pindah lickoyee, andalways, as the years go by, the pindah lickoyee increase in numbersand grow stronger and the Shis-Inday became fewer in numbers andgrow weaker. It has been long time since we defeated the pindahlickoyee in battle; and when we did it made no difference, theycame again with more soldiers. If we could not drive them out ofour country when we were many and they were few, how could we hopeto drive them out now that they are many and we are few?

"Geronimo is war chief of all the Apaches. Geronimo loves hispeople. He loves his land. He hates the pindah lickoyee. ButGeronimo is old and he has the wisdom of the old, he knows whenthere is no longer hope. My son, for the Apaches there is no hope.Geronimo will never again fight against the pindah lickoyee.Geronimo has spoken."

"Geronimo is right," replied Shoz-Dijiji. "There is no hope.They have taken our land from us; they have taken the game wehunted that we might live; but one thing they cannot take fromus—the right to die and to choose the manner of our dying. I,Shoz-Dijiji, choose to die fighting the pindah lickoyee. I shall goout upon the war trail with Na-chi-ta and the Cho-kon-en. I havespoken."

"You have spoken well, my son. You are a young man. Young menshould fight. Geronimo is old and tired and very sad. He wouldrather lay down his weapons and rest."

Great was the activity in the camp of the Cho-kon-en whenShoz-Dijiji returned accompanied by Gian-nah-tah and several of theother younger braves of the Be-don-ko-he. Chief Co-si-to was therewith a band of his Chi-e-a-hen warriors; but there wasdisappointment in the voice of Na-chi-ta when he told that theother tribes had refused to join them.

Nan-ta-do-tash headed the izze-nantans who were preparing bigmedicine for use against the enemy, and with his own hands heprepared a phylactery for Shoz-Dijiji, calling down many blessingsupon it.

The feast and the war dance aroused the braves to the highestpitch of excitement, to which the women added by their savagedenunciation of the enemy and their demands upon their braves to goforth like men and slay the hated white-eyes; and when the dancewas over the squaws accompanied the war party for several miles outof camp toward the point the chiefs had chosen for attack upon themorrow.

XIX. — WHITE AND RED

IN a ranch house on the banks of the Gila, betweenFort Thomas and the San Carlos Indian Agency, Wichita Billingsawoke early on a beautiful, bright April morning.

She had ridden down from Thomas on the previous day with aSignal Corps detachment that was repairing the line of governmenttelegraph, for a day's visit with the wife of the rancher. Tomorrowthey would be back and she would return to the post with them.

Hearing her hostess already in the kitchen the girl dressedquickly and joined her. It was very early, yet already the rancherand his men were busy with the feeding and the chores. The dailylife of the ranch had commenced, as it always did, in the cool ofthe morning, for one soon learns to take advantage of any respitefrom the intense heat of Arizona's middays.

Molly Pringe hummed a gay song as she fed sticks of cottonwoodto the hungry range while Chita stirred the buckwheat batter. Theodor of coffee and frying bacon was in the air. The women chattedas they worked. There was a great chirping of birds among thefoliage of the two trees that shaded the front of the house.

Later in the day would come heat and silence. From behind thebrow of a low ridge north of the ranch house a band of paintedwarriors surveyed the scene. They were Chi-e-a-hen andTats-ah-das-ay-go, the Quick Killer, led them, forTats-ah-das-ay-go was a war chief of the Chi-e-a-hen. With himtoday was Shoz-Dijiji, a war chief of the Be-don-ko-he; butShoz-Dijiji rode as a warrior, since his tribe had refused to jointhe Chi-e-a-hen and Cho-kon-en upon the war trail. Just below themthey saw a few white men moving about the corrals and sheds; theysaw smoke pouring from the chimney of the ranch house—therethe women would be.

Heber Pringe raised a forkful of hay to toss it over into thecorral where several saddle ponies stood. As he did so he faced theridge a few hundred yards away and instantly the fork stopped inmid-air, for at that moment a dozen savage warriors had urged theirwiry mounts over the top and were already quirting them into a rundown the hill.

"Apaches!" yelled Pringe and started for the house on a run.Simultaneously, realizing that they had been seen, the warriorsbroke into the fierce Apache war whoop and, firing as theyadvanced, charged at a mad run down the hill in an effort tointercept the men before they reached the house, toward which allof them were now running amidst the shriek and whine of bullets,the yells of the savages spurring them on.

Pringe, who was in the lead, fell at the threshold of his homeas a quartet of savages cut off the balance of the white men, whothen turned toward the bunk house where they might make a betterstand than in the open. With such swiftness had the hostiles struckthat the women in the kitchen had scarcely more than grasped thesignificance of the attack when a burly brave shouldered into theirpresence. For an instant he stood in the doorway, his cruel facehideous with bands of green and blue and the red blood of a freshkilled rabbit. From behind him three other pairs of fierce eyesglared savagely across his shoulders out of faces streaked with warpaint. Molly Pringe and Wichita Billings, trapped, unarmed, stoodthere helpless, momentarily frozen into inactivity by surprise andterror.

The older woman, standing before the stove, was the first toreact to the menace of those sinister intruders. Seizing a hotfrying pan filled with bubbling fat she hurled it at the head ofthe leading savage, at Tats-ah-das-ay-go, war chief of theChi-e-a-hen. He fended the missile with a swart forearm, but muchof the boiling contents spattered upon his naked body, eliciting aroar of rage and pain, spurring him to action.

Springing across the kitchen he seized Molly Pringe by the hairand forced her back upon the red-hot stove as he wielded his greatbutcher knife before the horrified eyes of Wichita Billings, thenhe turned upon her as, with clothing afire, the body of her friendslipped to the floor. Wichita Billings neither screamed nor faintedas death stared her in the face. In her heart she breathed aprayer, not for life, but for death quick and merciful, such as hadbeen meted to Molly Pringe.

She saw the rage-distorted face of the Apache relax as his eyesfell upon her; she saw him pause in his advance; she saw the suddenchange that marked a new thought in that demoniacal brain; she sawand shuddered. She would make him kill her! She raised the mixingbowl to hurl it in his face just as another warrior leaped into theroom and seized the wrist of Tats-ah-das-ay-go. The girl stood withthe bowl poised above her head, but she did not hurl it. Slowly herhands dropped before her as she recognized Shoz-Dijiji.

"Who are you, Be-don-ko-he, to give orders to Tats-ah-das-ay-go,war chief of the Chi-e-a-hen?" demanded the other, wrenching hiswrist from the grasp of Shoz-Dijiji.

"She is mine. I take her." He took a step forward toward thegirl, and as he did so the Be-don-ko-he stepped between them andwith a terrific shove sent Tats-ah-das-ay-go reeling across theroom. Recovering himself, loud Apache curses upon his lips, theChi-e-a-hen sprang for Shoz-Dijiji with up-raised knife; but theBe-don-ko-he was too quick, his Colt spoke from his hip andTats-ah-das-ay-go crumpled to the floor of the kitchen beside thelast victim of his ferocity.

"Come! Quick!" snapped Shoz-Dijiji, seizing the girl by thewrist; but there were two more Chi-e-a-hen in the doorway todispute the ethics of his action with the Be-don-ko-he.

It is not difficult to foment strife between the members ofdifferent Apache tribes, and in this case there was littlebackground of friendly intercourse to interpose its mediatinginfluence between Shoz-Dijiji and these two warriors who had justseen him slay one of their great men; nor did Shoz-Dijiji expectanything other than opposition as he swung toward the doorway.

Nor was he waiting for opposition to develop. As he wheeled, hefired, and as one of the braves lurched forward upon his face theother turned and ran from the house. Behind him came Shoz-Dijiji,dragging Wichita Billings with him. In the yard stood many ponies,among them a pinto stallion and toward him the Be-don-ko-he ranswiftly, while the fleeing Chi-e-a-hen sped, shouting, in thedirection of the warriors surrounding the bunk house.

Shoz-Dijiji leaped to the back of Nejeunee and leaning downoffered a flexed arm to the girl. Grasping it, she sprang upward asShoz-Dijiji straightened, lifting her, swinging her to the pony'srump behind him.

The Chi-e-a-hen had attracted the attention of some of hisfellows and was leading them back at a run as Shoz-Dijiji reinedNejeunee toward the south and gave him his head with a whisperedword in his pointed ear. Straight toward the Gila he rode, and ashe reached the bank a backward glance revealed four Chi-e-a-henbraves quirting in pursuit. Down the steep bank into the muddy Gilaslid Nejeunee, across the turgid stream he splashed, and up thebank beyond. Behind them came the yelling, avenging four. Outacross level land toward the mountains sped the pinto stallionwhile a bewildered girl clung to the naked shoulders of the coppergiant before her. His black hair, wind blown, tossed before hereyes; his bow and arrow-filled quiver touched her cheek; at his hipwas the Colt that had won them escape, and in his right hand hewaved a cavalry carbine as he shouted defiance and insults at theChi-e-a-hen trailing behind. Her rescue, if it was rescue, hadoccurred so unexpectedly and had developed with such swiftness,amid action fierce and bloody, that Wichita Billings had had notime to consider what it might portend. Was she being rescued, orhad there merely been a change of captors? She wondered, now thatshe could find an instant in which to think at all. She hadrecognized Shoz-Dijiji the instant that he had interfered with herassailant. Unquestionably he had been one of the raiding party thathad attacked the ranch, a hostile on the warpath. She knew howfierce and terrible they became under the spell of the weird ritesof their medicine men, the savagely inciting oratory of theirchiefs, the taunts and urgings of their squaws. She knew that theseforces often transformed friendly, peaceable Indians into fiends ofthe most brutish ferocity; and slowly a new fear entered her heart,but even this was temporarily driven out a moment later as theChi-e-a-hen warriors began firing at them. It is true that thebullets went wide, as a running pony makes a difficult seat for amarksman, but there was always the chance that a bullet might findthem.

Over his shoulder Shoz-Dijiji spoke to her. "Take mysix-shooter," he said, "and fire it at them. Mebbyso they no comeso fast."

Wrenching the heavy weapon from its holster the girl turnedabout as far as she could and fired back at the leading pursuer.The bullet must have come close to him, for he reined in a little,increasing the distance between them. A moment later she firedagain, and one of the Chi-e-a-hen threw up both hands and toppledfrom his pony. With renewed yells the remaining three opened firemore rapidly, but they kept a greater distance.

The brave little pinto, straining every nerve, foughtcourageously on under his double burden, but as the gradual ascenttoward the mountains became a more pronounced upward gradient thepace told on him, and Shoz-Dijiji knew that though he might rununtil his brave heart burst he could not escape even inferiorponies that carried but a single rider.

Ahead was a low outcropping of uptilted sedimentary rock, andtoward this the Be-don-ko-he reined his war pony while behind thethree clung like pursuing wolves, occasionally firing a shot whichwas often returned by the girl. Through a gap in the rockyescarpment rode Shoz-Dijiji. He wheeled quickly to one side andbrought Nejeunee to his haunches, at the same instant throwing aleg over the pony's withers, and as he touched the ground draggingWichita down beside him.

"Lie down!" he commanded, pointing toward the naturalbreastwork, and then he turned toward Nejeunee and spoke an Apacheword in his ear. Instantly the animal went down upon his knees androlled over on his side; the three were effectually hidden from thefire of the enemy.

Throwing himself down beside the girl Shoz-Dijiji raised hiscarbine above the top of the ledge and took careful aim at thefore-most of the Chi-e-a-hen. At the shot the fellow dropped. AgainShoz-Dijiji fired and the mount of another stumbled and fell. Thatwas enough for the Chi-e-a-hen. Running toward his remainingcompanion, the warrior who had been dismounted leaped to a seatbehind him and the two wheeled and scurried away while the bulletsof the Be-don-ko-he whistled about their ears. For a whileShoz-Dijiji watched the retreating enemy in silence, or scanned thecountry closely in all directions. Presently he turned toward thegirl.

"I know. They come back with many braves. They want killShoz-Dijiji. They want you."

"When they are out of sight I can ride for the post," shesuggested; but she wondered if he would let her, after all.

"No," he replied. "Apaches everywhere." He waved his handbroadly from west to east and back again. "Apaches on the wartrail. You no reach post. Shoz-Dijiji no reach post, mebby.Shoz-Dijiji take you to his own people—to the Be-don-ko-he.You be safe there with Sons-ee-ah-ray and Geronimo."

To Shoz-Dijiji no promise could have seemed more reassuring, noname so fraught with assurance of protection than that of the kindold man who had always defended him, the powerful chief whose veryname was a bulwark of safety for any friend. To Wichita Billingsthe suggestion awakened naught but fear and the name only horror.Geronimo! The fiend, the red devil, murderer, torturer, scourge oftwo nations! She trembled at the mere thought of him.

"You would never reach them. Tomorrow we can be with theBe-don-ko-he. They are not upon the war trail. When the fighting isover I will take you back to your people."

He looked at her in surprise. "You will be safe with him," hesaid. "Geronimo is my father."

She looked up at him aghast. God have mercy upon her—alonewith the son of Geronimo!

"Come!" said Shoz-Dijiji. "Pretty soon they come back. No findus here. Mebbyso they follow. We go now they no catch. We stay,they catch, Come!"

He had mounted Nejeunee and was waiting for her. Tall andstraight he sat his war pony. The war band about his brow confinedhis black hair; across his face, from ear to ear, spread a wideband of vermilion; a single necklace of silver and turquoiseencircled his neck and lay upon his deep chest; beaded warmoccasins encased his feet and legs.

From the painted face two steady eyes regarded her intently,searchingly, conveying the impression that they saw beneath thesurface, deep into the secret recesses of her mind. They were notsavage eyes now, not the eyes that she had seen flash uponTats-ah-das-ay-go, but, rather, steadfast, friendly eyes that were,at the same time, commanding eyes. They waited, but there was noinquiry in them as to whether she would obey; that, they took forgranted.

Still the girl hesitated. What was she to do? As deeply rootedwithin her as is man's natural repugnance for snakes was her fearand distrust of all Apaches, yet Shoz-Dijiji seemed different.Three times he had had her in his power and had offered her noharm; twice he had saved her from harm at the hands of others, thislast time at the cost of the lives of four of his fellows,subjecting himself to what future dangers she could only too wellconjecture, aware as she was of the Indian's penchant forvengeance. Had it been a matter only of trusting herself to himalone, perhaps she would not have hesitated; but there were theother members of his tribe—the squaws. She had heard storiesof the cruelties of the squaws toward white women—andGeronimo! She recalled every hideous atrocity that had ever beenlaid at the door of this terrible old man, and she shrank from thethought of permitting herself to be taken to his hidden den anddelivered into his cruel and, bloody hands. Shoz-Dijiji had riddenclose to her side. "You come!" he said, and reaching down he swepther up into his arms and headed Nejeunee into the hills. Thus wasthe decision made for her.

He held her so easily, as though she had been a little child. Hewas so strong, and his voice so commanding, without harshness, thatshe felt almost reassured even with the coincident realization thatshe was being carried off by force.

"I know why you afraid," said Shoz-Dijiji presently. "You hearbad stories about Apaches. You hear much talk, bad talk; but alwaysfrom mouth of enemies of Apache. You wait. You see how Apache treatfriend. You no be afraid. You savvy?"

Wichita Billings had thought that she knew this part of Arizonarather well, but the Apache took her to a place, far back in whatseemed utterly arid mountains, that she had never dreamed of. Itwas a tiny, well-hidden canyon; but it boasted that most preciousof treasures, water; and there were a few trees and a little grassfor Nejeunee. The water seeped out from between rocks, wet theground for a few feet from its source and disappeared again intothe sand and gravel of a little wash; but after Shoz-Dijiji scoopedout a hole with his hands it quickly filled and there was amplewater for them all, even thirsty Nejeunee, though it was a longtime before he got his fill.

After they had drunk Shoz-Dijiji hobbled Nejeunee, lest he straytoo far, then he removed his cartridge belt and revolver and laidthem beside the girl, together with his carbine. "You stay here,"he said. "Mebbyso Shoz-Dijiji catchem rabbit. Go see," andunslinging his bow he walked away. He went up the little canyon andsoon disappeared.

Wichita Billings glanced down at the weapons beside her and upat the hobbled pony grazing a few yards from her. How easy it wouldbe, she thought. She gathered up the cartridge belt with theholster and revolver attached and rose to her feet. How easily shecould outdistance pursuit upon that swift pony. It seemed strangethat the Apache should have left her alone with his weapons and hispony; he might have known that she could escape. She wondered whyhe had done it and then the answer came to her—he trustedher.

She stood there for several minutes with the belt dangling inher hand. He trusted her! And what return was she about to make hisconfidence and his sacrifices? Did he deserve this at herhands—to be left afoot and primitively armed in a countryswarming with enemy soldiers and equally hostile Indians?

Wichita let the cartridge belt slip from her fingers to theground and sat down again to wait, her mind relieved with theacceptance of a definite determination to put her trust implicitlyin the honor of Shoz-Dijiji. She tried to remember only hisgenerous acts, his friendly attitude, his noble mien, and the greatstrength and courage that proclaimed him a safe refuge and anatural protector. She wanted to forget that he was a renegade, asavage Cheeracow Apache. And then he returned, as silently as hehad departed; and she saw his almost naked body and the war painton his face, and it took all the courage of her brave little heartto smile up at him in greeting as he stopped before her, tall,straight, magnificent, and laid a rabbit and brace of quail at herfeet.

Then it was that Shoz-Dijiji did something the significance ofwhich passed above the head of the white girl, something that wouldhave told her more plainly than words the unique position that sheheld in the regard of the red man. There, with a woman present, theApache warrior prepared the game, built the fire and cooked themeal. Wichita Billings took it as a matter of course. Shoz-Dijijiexcused it, mentally, upon the ground that women were helplessfools, that one of them would not know how to build a fire withoutmatches and with very little fuel, how to prepare properly thequail and the rabbit.

It was almost dusk when they had finished their frugal meal.There were no dishes to wash, but Shoz-Dijiji carefully buried allsigns of their fire and the remnants of their repast. By dark theywere moving south again upon the back of the rested Nejeunee. Downthe mountains, out onto a plain they rode, and by midnight enteredanother range farther south. Here Shoz-Dijiji halted again, built arude shelter for Wichita and told her to sleep, while he threwhimself down upon the ground a few yards away. All the followingday they rode, through a rough, trailless, mountain country, thebrave finding food where there was none to be seen and water wherethe girl would have sworn no water could exist.

Wichita was tired almost to exhaustion, yet the man seemed notto notice that they had been undergoing any hardships whatsoever.To her he seemed a man of iron, and almost as silent; and as thehours passed slowly, monotonously, painfully, there grew within hera sense of trustfulness, of security that she could imagineharboring for no other man she had ever known. He seemed a verywell of resourcefulness; a sanctuary as granitic, as eternal as theeverlasting bed rock they sometimes crossed—a demi-god movingsurely through a world of his own creation where there were nosecrets that might be hid from his omniscience.

And thus at last they came to the camp of the Be-don-ko-he, butWichita Billings was no longer afraid; where Shoz-Dijiji was, therewas safety. As they rode into the camp, there was a tendency tocrowd about them and there were looks in the eyes of some of thesquaws that would have filled her with apprehension had not thegreat shoulders of Shoz-Dijiji loomed so reassuringly close; butafter he had spoken to them, in words she could not understand,their attitude changed. Scowling squaws smiled up at her and one ortwo stroked her skirt in a friendly way, for Shoz-Dijiji had toldthem that she was his friend—a friend of all theBe-don-ko-he.

They dismounted before a rude tepee where squatted a wrinkledman and two women. "This is Geronimo, my father," saidShoz-Dijiji.

The girl looked, almost fearfully, into the face of the oldarchdemon. She saw stern features there, and a wide mouth withalmost bloodless lips, and blue eyes, so uncharacteristic of theApache. Contorted with rage, she could sense that it might be aface of utter cruelty; but today, as he listened to the words ofhis son, it was just the face of a benevolent, tired, old man.

"Shoz-Dijiji brings a captive from the war trail?" Geronimo hadasked when the two first stood before him.

Again the younger man shook his head. "She was a friend toShoz-Dijiji," he explained. "She gave him food and water and a ponywhen the soldiers of the pindah lickoyee were hunting him.

"When Shoz-Dijiji was upon the war trail with the Chi-e-a-henthey were about to kill her. They would not stop when Shoz-Dijijiasked them to. Shoz-Dijiji killed the Chi-e-a-hen, and because thecountry was filled with Apaches upon the war trail and Shoz-Dijijiknew that many soldiers would come, he brought her here to his ownpeople, where she will be safe until the trouble is over; then hewill return her to her people."

"Geronimo says, 'sit down,'" translated Shoz-Dijiji and the girldid as she was bid. Geronimo patted her hand and smiled.

When Shoz-Dijiji had repeated the words in English, Wichita knewthat they were true, yet at the same time it seemed beyond beliefthat she could be sitting at the side of the notorious Geronimo inthe remote fastness of his hidden camp and yet be as innocent offear as though safe within the protecting walls of her father'sranch house. The thought came to her that perhaps she was saferhere, since at least she was not menaced by the threat of hostileApaches.

That night she slept in the tepee of the mother-in-law ofGeronimo and as she dozed off to sleep she smiled as she thought ofthe terrors that that name had always conjured to her mind and ofthe surprise and incredibility that were certain to mark thereception of her story by her father and her friends when she wasrestored to them—sleeping in the tepee of the mother-in-lawof Geronimo, not twenty paces from the war chief of all theApaches.

XX. — COME BACK!

THROUGH that strange medium for the disseminationof information that is one of the remarkable phenomena of the lifeof primitive peoples, word of the activities of the hostiles wascarried to the stronghold of Geronimo.

The Be-don-ko-he knew of the attack upon San Carlos Agency whichresulted in the killing of Sterling, chief of Indian Scouts, andseveral other whites; knew that Chief Loco, successor to the deadVictorio, had joined the hostiles with all his Chi-hen-ne, men,women and children, and that the whole band was heading southtoward Mexico.

They had news of the fight in Horse Shoe Canyon, and learned ofthe killing of Yuma Bill and three Yuma scouts and three soldiersin that fight; followed the flight of the hostiles along the roughcrest of Stein's Peak Range, down into the San Simon Valley, andfrom there into the Chiricahua Mountains; knew that they hadscattered there, only to meet at another point; saw them safely allthe way through Whitewater Canyon, across the mountains, downAnimas Valley toward Guadalupe Pass, and near there across intoMexico.

Shoz-Dijiji kept Wichita posted on all that transpired, but hewould not start back with her toward her home until he was surethat the last of the hostiles was out of the country, for they hadscattered twice and he was not sure that all had crossed theborder. Too, there was the danger from the troops, but that wassecondary because it menaced only himself. She tried to tell himthat he would be safe from the soldiers as long as he was with her,for when she had told them that he had rescued her from thehostiles they would not only be friendly but would reward him, buthe shook his head.

They were sitting beneath the shade of a tree upon the shoulderof the mountain, over-looking the camp of the Be-don-ko-he. In thedistance they could see the wide plain stretching to othermountains.

The girl had noticed that Shoz-Dijiji always seemed to be wherehe could see to a great distance when he rested or rather idled,for he never seemed to be in the need of rest. Sometimes he scannedthe horizon through a pair of field glasses. Finally he touched theglasses to call her attention to them.

It was her turn to laugh. "He is only a friend," she said. "Arethose his glasses?"

Impulsively she laid a hand upon his arm. "Oh, Shoz-Dijiji," shecried, "why do you want to kill everyone? You are such a good man.Why don't you put away your weapons and come in to thereservation?"

"Shoz-Dijiji does not want to kill everyone," replied the brave."Shoz-Dijiji does not want to kill you. If Shoz-Dijiji put away hisweapons, no hunt, no fight; what for he live? Be reservationIndian?" There was a wealth of unveiled contempt in his voice. "Letagent cheat him, starve him? Let white man laugh at him, make funof him? No!"

"Yes, you would help me; but you would always feel sorry for mebecause I am an Indian. I do not want the help of the white-eyes. Ido not think that they would help me. Have they ever helped theIndian? What can they give the Indian that Usen has not alreadygiven him? Only, they take away what Usen has given.

"What has the pindah lickoyee better than the Shis-Inday? Is hebraver? Is he more honest? Can he teach the Indian how and where tofind food and clothing? No, the pindah lickoyee would starve wherethe Indian grows fat. He would go naked where the Indian finds moreclothing than he needs. Has he more sense? He has none. See what hehas done to this country.

"Before he came there was plenty for all, but like a fool he setout to kill every living thing that Usen had put here. He robs theIndian of his food, but also he robs himself of food—foodthat cost only a little effort to obtain—food that, hunted asthe Indian knows how to hunt, always increased in numbers.

"What has he done for us? He is trying to take away from us theways of our fathers—our dances, our medicine men, everythingthat we hold sacred; and in return he gives us whiskey and shootsus wherever he finds us. I do not think the pindah lickoyee aresuch good men that they can tell the Indian how to be good.

"Around every post and agency the white men are always trying toravish our women. The women of the Apache are good women. When theyare not we cut off their noses. How many Apache women have you everseen whose noses had been cut off? Do you think we want to come andlive beside such men? Do you think there is anything that they canteach us that is better than our fathers taught us?

"You think it is bad to kill. Yes, it is bad to kill; but it isbetter to kill like men and braves, openly and upon the war trail,than to kill by lies. Our people are told great lies to get them tocome into the reservations, and there they are starved; and if theyleave the reservation to hunt for food for their women andchildren, without a pass from the agent who is robbing them, thenthe soldiers come and shoot them. No, Shoz-Dijiji never bereservation Indian!"

"I am sorry," she said. "I never thought of it from your side. Ican see that in some ways you are right; but in others you arewrong. All white men are not bad."

"All Indians are not bad," he replied quickly, "but the pindahlickoyee treat them all alike—bad."

For some time they sat in silence, the Apache watching thegirl's face, his own expressionless.

What was passing behind that granitic mask? Once he extended ahand toward her as though to touch her, then he drew it backquickly and sprang to his feet.

Two days later Geronimo and Shoz-Dijiji thought that it would besafe to return Wichita to her home, and the young war chief and thegirl set out upon the long journey, which was but a repetition ofthat which had ended at the camp of the Be-don-ko-he.

During the journey Wichita could not but notice that the bravescarcely let his eyes leave her face, a thing of which she had hada growing consciousness for at least two days before they left thecamp. Had she not come to trust him so implicitly she would havefound it difficult not to have acknowledged something of nervousapprehension as she felt his gaze constantly upon her; but he tookno other liberties with her—just looked at her through thosesteady, inscrutable eyes.

Every journey must have an end and at last the two stood uponthe very hill above her father's ranch where they had stood uponanother occasion. Shoz-Dijiji drew rein and dismounted. "I willwait here until you are safe in the house of your father," hesaid.

"I want you to, Shoz-Dijiji. I want my father to know you, andthank you for what you have done for me," she insisted.

"Me no go," he replied. The girl became suddenly conscious of afeeling almost of panic. Was she never to see Shoz-Dijiji again,this good friend, this best of friends? She realized, and therealization came as a distinct shock, that this man of another racehad suddenly filled a great emptiness in her life—anemptiness the existence of which she had never beforerealized—and that life was going to be very different withouthim. Already she felt a great loneliness creeping over her.

She was standing beside him and now, she turned and came close,putting her two palms upon his breast. "Please, Shoz-Dijiji," shebegged. "Please come down—I do not want you to go away."

The contact of her hands upon him broke the iron will of theApache. The habitual mask behind which he hid his emotions droppedaway—it was a new Shoz-Dijiji into whose face the girllooked. He seized her in his arms and pressed her close; his lipscovering hers.

She struck at his great chest and sought to push him away; sheheld her head from him and he saw the horror in her eyes. Then itwas that he released her.

"Shoz-Dijiji sorry," he said. "For days he fight the great fireburning in his brain, burning up his heart. Shoz-Dijiji thought hewas strong; he did not know how much stronger is love—untilyou touched him. But you are right. You are white—Shoz-Dijijiis Apache. White girl could not love Apache. That is right." Hevaulted to the back of Nejeunee. "Shoz-Dijiji sorry. Good-bye!"

She watched him ride away and the panic and the lonelinessgripped her like fingers of flesh and blood that sought to chokelife and love and happiness from her. She saw him disappear beyonda hill to the south and she took a step after him, her handsoutstretched in dumb pleading for his return that her lips had notthe courage to voice aloud. She stood thus for a minute and thenher arms dropped limply to her side and she turned back toward herfather's house.

A few steps she took and then she wheeled suddenly about andextended her arms again, in supplication.

Movatterモバイル変換

The War Chief

by

Edgar Rice Burroughs

Serialized inArgosy All-Story Weekly, April16—May 14, 1927
First US book edition: A.C. McClurg & Co., Chicago, September1927

This e-book edition: Project Gutenberg Australia, 2018

TABLE OF CONTENTS

I. — GO-YAT-THLAY

II. — SHOZ-DIJIJI

III. — YAH-IK-TEE

IV. — THE NEW WAR CHIEF

V. — ON THE WAR TRAIL

VI. — THE OATH OF GERONIMO

VII. — RAIDED

VIII. — VAQUEROS AND WARRIORS

IX. — LOVE

X. — WICHITA BILLINGS

XI. — WAR CHIEF OF THEBE-DON-KO-HE

XII. — THE SCALP DANCE

XIII. — "SHOZ-DIJIJI ISDEAD!"

XIV. — "FIFTY APACHES"

XV. — HUNTED

XVI. — TO SPIRIT LAND

XVII. — THE TRAIL AND ITSEND

XVIII. — THE WAR DANCE

XIX. — WHITE AND RED

XX. — COME BACK!

THE END

Movatterモバイル変換

The War Chief

by

Edgar Rice Burroughs

Serialized inArgosy All-Story Weekly, April16—May 14, 1927First US book edition: A.C. McClurg & Co., Chicago, September1927This e-book edition: Project Gutenberg Australia, 2018

TABLE OF CONTENTS

THE END

Serialized inArgosy All-Story Weekly, April16—May 14, 1927
First US book edition: A.C. McClurg & Co., Chicago, September1927

This e-book edition: Project Gutenberg Australia, 2018