He swung back toward Shoz-Dijiji. "Crawford, give this man some tobacco for bringing me this information, and see that he is passed through the sentries and sent back to his camp. Tell him that Geronimo had no business leaving the reservation and that he will have to come back, but do not let him suspect that we are sending troops after him."
The corporal of the guard escorted Shoz-Dijiji through the line of sentries, and as they were about to part the Apache handed the soldier the sack of tobacco that Captain Crawford had given him.
"You're not such a bad Indian, at that," commented the corporal, "but," he added, scratching his head, "I'd like to know how in hell you got into the post in the first place."
"Me no sabe," said Shoz-Dijiji.
Mrs. Cullis arose early the following morning and went directly to Wichita's room, where she found her guest already dressed in flannel shirt, buckskin skirt, and high heeled boots, ready for her long ride back to the Billings' ranch.
"I thought I'd catch you before you got dressed," said the older woman.
"Why?"
"You can't go today. Geronimo has gone out again. 'B' Troop and Captain Crawford's scouts have started after him already. Both Captain Cullis and Mister King have gone out with 'B' Troop; but even if there were anyone to go with you, it won't be safe until they have Geronimo back on the reservation again."
"How many went out with him?" asked the girl.
"Only his wife and children. The Indians say he has not gone on the war path, but I wouldn't take any chances with the bloodthirsty old scoundrel."
"I'm not afraid,!" said Wichita. "As long as it's only Geronimo I'm in no danger even if I meet him, which I won't. You know we are old friends."
"Yes, I know all about that; but I know you can't trust an Apache."
"I trust them," said Wichita. She stooped and buckled on her spurs.
"You don't mean that you are going anyway!"
"Why of course I am."
Margaret Cullis shook her head. "What am I to do?" she demanded helplessly.
"Give me a cup of coffee before I leave," suggested Wichita.
The business at the Hog Ranch had been good that night. Two miners and a couple of cattlemen, all well staked, had dropped in early in the evening for a couple of drinks and a few rounds of stud. They were still there at daylight, but they were no longer well staked.
"Dirty" Cheetim and three or four of his cronies had annexed their bank rolls. The four guests were sleeping off the effects of their pleasant evening on the floor of the back room.
"Dirty" and his pals had come out on the front porch to inhale a breath of fresh air before retiring. An Indian, lithe, straight, expressionless of face, was approaching the building.
"Hello, John!" said "Dirty" Cheetim through a wide yawn. "What for you want?"
"Whiskey," said the Apache. "Le'me see the' color of your dust, John."
A rider coming into view from the direction of the post attracted Cheetim's attention. "Wait till we see who that is," he said. "I don't want none of those damn long hairs catchin' me dishin' red-eye to no Siwash."
They all stood watching the approaching rider. "Why it's a woman," said one of the men.
"Durned if it ain't," admitted another. "Hell!" exclaimed Cheetim. "It's Billings' girl- the dirty --!"
"What you got agin' her ?" asked one of the 'party.
"Got against her? Plenty! I offered to marry her, and she turned me down flat. Then her old man run me offen the ranch. It was lucky for him that they was a bunch of his cow-hands hangin' around."
The girl passed, her horse swinging along in an easy, running walk- the gait that eats up the miles. Down the dusty trail they passed while the five white men and the Apache stood on the front porch of the Hog Ranch and watched.
"Neat little heifer," commented one of the former.
"You fellers want to clean up a little dust?" asked Cheetim.
"How?" asked the youngest of the party, a puncher who drank too much to be able to hold a job even in this country of hard drinking men.
"Help me c'ral that critter--she'd boom business in the Hog Ranch."
"We've helped you put your iron on lots of mavericks; Dirty," said the young man. "Whatever you says goes with me."
"Bueno! We'll just slap on our saddles and follow along easy like till she gets around Pimos Canyon. They's a old shack up there that some dude built for huntin', but it ain't been used since the bronchos went out under Juh in '81--say, that just natch'rly scairt that dude plumb out o' the country. I'll keep her up there a little while in case anyone raises a stink, and after it blows over I'll fetch her down to the Ranch. Now who's this a-comin' ?"
From the direction of the post a mounted trooper was approaching at a canter. He drew rein in front of the Hog Ranch.
"Hello, you dirty bums!" he greeted them, with a grin. "You ain't worth it, but orders is orders, and mine is to notify the whites in this neck o' the woods that Geronimo's gone out again. I hope to Christ he gets you," and the messenger spurred on along the trail.
Cheetim turned to the Apache. "Is that straight, John ?" he asked. "Has Geronimo gone out?"
The Indian nodded affirmatively.
"Now I reckon we got to hang onto our scalps with both hands for another couple months," wailed the young puncher.
"Geronimo no go on war trail," explained the Apache. "Him just go away reservation. Him no kill."
"Well, if he ain't on the war-path we might as well mosey along after the Billings heifer," said Cheetim, with a sigh of relief. He turned to the Indian. "I ain't got no time now!" he said. "You come round tomorrow--maybe so I fix you up then, eh?"
The Apache nodded. "Mebbe so, mebbe not," he replied, enigmatically; but Cheetim, who had already started for the corral, failed to note any hidden meaning in the words of the Indian. Perhaps none had been intended. One seldom knows what may be in the mind of an Apache.
As the five men saddled and prepared to ride after Wichita Billings the Indian started back toward the reservation. He had not understood every word that the white men had spoken; but he had understood enough, coupled with his knowledge of the sort of men they were, to fully realize their purpose and the grave danger that threatened the white girl.
In the heart of Gian-nah-tah was no love for her. In the breast of Gian-nah-tah burned sullen resentment and anger against Shoz-Dijiji. When Cheetim's purpose with the girl had first dawned upon him it had not occurred to him that he might interfere. The girl had spurned Shoz-Dijiji. Perhaps it would be better if she were out of the way. But he knew that Shoz-Dijiji loved her and that even though she did not love the war chief of the Be-don-ko-he he would protect her from injury if he could.
He recalled how Shoz-Dijiji had struck the whiskey from his hand the previous day; he felt the blows upon his face as Shoz-Dijiji slapped him; he burned at recollection of the indignities that had been: put upon him before the eyes of the white-eyed man; but he kept on in the direction of the Be-don-ko-he camp.