He dropped his rifle and seizing the red blanket in both hands arose and waved it in the faces of the oncoming horses. They swerved--they turned, stumbling and plunging among the loose rock of the rubble heaps. Two fell and others piled upon them. For minutes--precious minutes -- all was confusion; then they came on again.And again Gian-nah-tah flourished the red blanket in the faces of the horses, almost from beneath their feet. Again the frightened animals wheeled and fought to escape. Once again there was delay.
Another bullet pierced Gian-nah-tah's body. Weak from loss of blood and from the shock of wounds he could no longer stand, kneeling, he held the pass against fifty men. A fourth bullet passed through him--through his right lung -- and, coughing blood, he turned them back again. Through the yelling and the chaos of the fight the troop commander had been trying to extricate himself from the melee and call his men back. Finally he succeeded. The troop was drawn off a few yards.
"Sergeant," said the captain, "dismount and use your carbine on that fellow. Don't miss!"
Gian-nah-tah, kneeling, saw what they were doing. but he did not care.--He had held them. His people were safe!
The sergeant knelt and took careful aim.
"Usen has remembered his people at last,"whispered Gian- nah-tah.
The sergeant pressed his trigger; and Gian-nah-tah fell forward on his face, a bullet through his brain. When Captain Cullis led his troop through that narrow pass a moment later he saluted as he passed the dead body of a courageous enemy.
That night Geronimo camped beyond the summit, in the State of Chihuahua. Shoz-Dijiji sat in silence, his head bowed. No one mentioned the name of Gian-nah-tah. None of them had seen him die, but they knew that he was dead. He alone was missing. A girl, lying upon her blanket, sobbed quietly through the night.
In the morning the band separated into small parties and, scattering, led the pursuing troops upon many wild and fruitless chases. Geronimo, with six men and four women, started north toward the United States. Shoz-Dijiji, silent, morose, was one of the party.
Even these small bands often broke up for a day or two into other, smaller parties. Often the men hunted alone, but always there were meeting places designated ahead. Thus Geronimo and his companions ranged slowly northward through Chihuahua.
Cutting wood in the mountains near Casa Grande in Sonora had become too hazardous an occupation since Geronimo had been ranging the country; and so Luis Mariel, the son of Pedro Mariel, the woodchopper of Casa Grande, had come over into Chihuahua to look for other work.
He had never cared to be a woodchopper, but longed, as a youth will, for the picturesque and romantic life of a vaquero; and at last, here in Chihuahua, his ambition had been gratified and today, with three other vaqueros, he was helping guard a grazing herd upon the lower slopes of the Sierra Madre.
The four were youths, starting their careers with the prosaic duties of day herding and whiling away the hours with cigarettes and stories. Luis was quite a hero to the others, for he alone had participated in a real battle with Apaches. Chihuahua seemed a very dull and humdrum country after listening to the tales that Luis told of Apache raids and battles in wild Sonora. He told them of the Apache Devil and boasted that he was an old friend of the family.
Above the edge of a nearby arroyo unblinking eyes watched them. The eyes appraised the four cow ponies and sized up the grazing herd. They were stern eyes, narrowed by much exposure to the pitiless sunlight of the southwest. They were set in a band of white that crossed a blue face from temple to temple. They scrutinized Luis Mariel and recognized him, but their expression did not change.
The Apache saw before him horses that he and his friends needed; he saw food on the hoof, and Usen knew that they needed food; he saw the enemies of his people, anyone of whom would shoot him down on sight, had they the opportunity.But it was he who had the opportunity!
He levelled his rifle and fired. A vaquero cried out and fell from his saddle. The others looked about, drawing their pistols. Shoz-Dijiji fired again and another vaquero fell. Now the two remaining had located the smoke of his rifle and returned his fire.
Shoz-Dijiji dropped below the edge of the arroyo and ran quickly to a new position. When his eyes again peered above the edge of his defense he saw the two galloping toward his former position. He appreciated their bravery and realized their foolhardiness as he dropped his rifle quickly on one of them and pressed the trigger; then he quickly tied a white rag to the muzzle of his smoking rifle and waved it above the edge of the arroyo, though he was careful not to expose any more of his person than was necessary.
Luis Mariel looked in astonishment. What could it mean ? A voice called him by name.
"Who are you ?" demanded Luis, whose better judgment prompted him to put spurs to his horse and leave the victors in possession of the field.
"I am a friend," replied Shoz-Dijiji. "We shall not harm you if you will throw down your pistol. If you do not we can shoot you before you can get away."
Luis appreciated the truth of this statement. Further, he thought that his enemies must number several men; also -- he did not know that he who addressed him was not a Mexican, for the Spanish was quite as good as Luis' own. So he threw down his pistol, being assured by this time that they had been attacked by bandits who wished only to steal the herd. Perhaps they would invite him to join the band, and when was there ever a red-blooded youth who did not at some time in his career aspire to be a brigand or a pirate?
A painted face appeared above the arroyo's edge. "Mother of God!" cried Luis, "protect me."
The Apache sprang quickly to level ground and came toward the youth.
"The Apache Devil!" exclaimed Luis.
"Yes," said Shoz-Dijiji, stooping and picking up Luis' pistol. "I shall not harm you, if you will do as I tell you."
Won't the others kill me?" asked the youth.
"There are no others," replied Shoz-Dijiji.
"But you said 'we,'" explained Luis.
"I am alone."
"What do you want me to do?"
"Round up those three horses and then help me drive this herd to my camp."
"You will not harm me, nor let your friends harm me?"
"Have I harmed you or your father in the past?"
"No."
"Do as I tell you then," said Shoz-Dijiji, "and you will not be killed."
Luis rode after the three horses which were now grazing with the herd that had been but momentarily disturbed by the shots. When he returned with them the two men, each leading one of the riderless animals, started the cattle slowly toward the north in the direction of the next meeting place of Geronimo's party after Shoz-Dijiji had collected the arms and ammunition that had belonged to Luis and his three companions and secured them to the saddle of the horse led by the Apache.
Shoz-Dijiji rode in silence. If he felt any elation because of the success of his adventure it was not apparent in his demeanor. Grim, morose, he herded the cattle onward. His eyes patrolled the world bounded by the horizon, searching for enemies.
Luis Mariel, partly frightened, wholly thrilled, glanced often at his companion. To ride with the Apache Devil-- ah, what an adventure. From earliest childhood Luis' ears had been filled with the stories of Apache ferocity, treachery, cruelty, yet against these were set the knowledge that the Apache Devil had twice befriended his father and had once before befriended him. Perhaps the Apache Devil would not harm him, then; but what of the others?
He had heard hideous stories of the tortures inflicted by the Apaches upon their prisoners. It might be that the Apache Devil could not protect him from the ferocity of his fellows. This thought worried Luis and to such effect that he commenced to formulate plans for escape. If they did not come to the camp of the Indians before dark his chances would be better than to risk making a break for liberty in the face of the menace of the Apache Devil's marksmanship, which he had reason to know constituted a very real menace.