Luis mounted his pony and helped the men round up the cattle, but after they had started them in the direction of the Agency Luis waved his adios and reined his pony southward toward the Hog Ranch.
Shoz-Dijiji remained motionless until all were well out of sight, then he wormed his way below the brow of the hill, rose and walked down to Nejeunee. He had spent the preceding night in the hogan of friends on the reservation. They had talked of many things, among them being the fact that the Agent was still buying stolen cattle at a low price and collecting a high price for them from the Government.
Shoz-Dijiji knew that he had seen stolen cattle delivered to the Agent, which would not, of itself, have given him any concern; but the fact that most of these cattle had evidently been stolen from Wichita Billings put an entirely different aspect on the matter.
The fact that she hated him, that she had offered a reward for him, dead, could not alter the fact that he loved her; and, loving her, he must find a way to inform her of what he had discovered. Naturally, the first means to that end which occurred to him was Luke Jensen. He would ride back to where Luke Jensen rode and find him.
It is a long way from where Cheetim and Kreff had hidden the stolen herd to the Billings east range, and when one is a fair target for every rifle and six-shooter in the world it behooves one to move warily; so Shoz-Dijiji lay up until night and then rode slowly toward the east.
Luis Mariel had ridden directly to the Hog Ranch and reported to Cheetim, handing him both halves of the jack of spades as evidence that the herd had been turned over to the proper party in accordance with Luis' instructions.
"That's jest what I been waitin' fer," said Cheetim. "Now I got some more work fer you, if you're game. They's fifty dollars extra in it fer you."
"What is it?" asked Luis.
"It aint none o' your business what it is," replied Cheetim. "All you got to know is thet they may be some shootin' in it, an' all you got to do is do what I tell you. If you're skeered I don't want you."
"I am not afraid, Senor," replied Luis. The fifty dollars appeared a fortune.
"All right. You savvy the Crazy B Ranch?"
"Si, Senor."
"I want you to take a note to 'Smooth' Kreff, the foreman o' thet outfit."
"Is that all?"
"No. After you deliver the note you hang around and see what happens. They's a girl there. When I come I'll want to know where she is and how many men there are left at the ranch. There'll be four or five fellers with me. After that I'll tell you what to do."
"When does the shooting happen?" asked Luis.
"Oh, maybe they won't be no shootin'," replied Cheetim. "I was jest warnin' you in case they was. I'll write the letter now an' then you hit the trail. Ef you ride hard you'll make it before sun up. I want you there before the hands start out fer the day. Savvy?"
Laboriously, with the stub of a pencil that he constantly wet with his tongue, "Dirty" Cheetim wrote. It appeared to Luis that Senor Cheetim was not accustomed to writing--he seemed to be suffering from mental constipation--but at last the agony was over and Cheetim handed Luis a sheet of soiled paper folded many times into a small wad.
"If Kreff asks you about the cattle you say that when you went up this mornin' the bars o' the c'rral was down an' the cattle gone, an' don't you tell him nothin' different. If you do you won't get no fifty dollars 'cause you won't need 'em where I'll send you." Cheetim slapped the six- shooter at his hip.
"I understand," said Luis. He did not like Senor Cheetim, but fifty dollars are fifty dollars.
The sun was but a few minutes high when Luis Mariel reined into the Billings ranch yard. From a slight eminence a mile or two away, beyond the east pasture fence, Shoz-Dijiji saw him come and wondered.
The Apache had taken his position just before dawn and at the first flush of the new day had fixed his field glasses upon the ranch yard. He wished to get in touch with Jensen as quickly as possible and saw in this plan the surest method of determining when and in what direction Luke rode that morning.
Luis went at once to the bunk house, where the men were already astir, and delivered the letter to Kreff, whom he at once recognized as the tall, sandy haired man who had taken him to the herd and given him the torn playing card and his instructions. Kreff recognized Luis, too, but he only frowned.
Almost as laboriously as Cheetim had written it, Kreff deciphered the note.
"Frend Kref :" he read. "Sum fellers stole the herd bring al yore hands & help Me round them up they will think the fellers stol them & That will let us out doan fetch the greser i think he wus in on it dirty yours truely."
"Hell!" ejaculated Kreff. "What's eatin' you?" inquired "Kansas.""
"'Dirty' Cheetim says a bunch of rustlers is runnin' off some of our stock. He seen 'em headin' past his place. Luke! Rustle up that 'cavvy,' pronto. You fellers feed while Luke's gone. We're all hittin' the trail after them lousy thieves."
"I reckon 'Dirty' is jest sore 'cause he didn't git to the bunch ahead o' them other fellers," drawled "Kansas." Luke tucked his shirt tails into his trousers, grabbed his Stetson, and bolted for the corral. When Kreff had finished dressing he went to the cook house and told the Chinese cook to hurry breakfast. Then he walked over to the ranch house and stopping under Wichita's window called her name aloud.
A moment later, a Navajo blanket about her shoulders, the girl appeared at the window. "What is it, 'Smooth?'" she asked.
"You was right about the rustling," he said. "Cheetim jest sent a Greaser with a note sayin' he'd seen some fellers runnin' off a bunch of our stock. I'm takin' all the men an' ridin' after 'em. They can't git away."
"Good!" cried the girl. "I'll go with you."
"No, you better not. They's almost sure to be shootin'."
"I can shoot," she rep)ied.
"I know thet; but please don't do it, Chita. We'd all be lookin' after you an'couldn't do like we would if they wasn't a woman along."
"Perhaps you are right," she admitted. "Gosh! Why wasn't I born a boy?"
"I'm shore glad you wasn't."
Shoz-Dijiji, seeing Luke riding early and alone straight in his direction, felt that once again, after long forgetfulness, Usen had remembered him. He knew that the youth would come only as far as the horses pastured in the east pasture, and so he rode down and came through the gate to meet the cowboy. The willows in the draw screened them from each other's sight until Luke spurred up the steep bank of the wash and came face to face with the Apache.
"Hello, there!" he exclaimed in surprise. "What you doin' here?"
"I want you take word to Wichita," said Shoz-Dijiji. "The Indian Agent is buying cattle that are stolen from her. I saw it yesterday, on the reservation. You tell her?"
"We jest got word of the same bunch, I reckon," replied Luke. "We're all ridin' out after 'em now. Which way was they headin' when you saw them?"
"Toward the Agency."
"Thanks a lot, Shoz-Dijiji," said Luke. "I'll tell her anyway when I see her about your sendin' the word to her."
"No," said the Apache. "Do not tell her who sent the word."
"All right. I got to be movin'. The boys is waitin' fer these broncs. So long, Shoz-Dijiji!"
"Adios!" replied the Apache, and as Jensen herded the horses toward the corrals Shoz-Dijiji rode away, out through the pasture gate, onto the east range.
Something was troubling Shoz-Dijiji's mind. He had seen Luis Mariel guarding the stolen herd and yet it was he who brought word to the ranch concerning these same cattle. What did it mean?