Suddenly the Apache's attention was attracted by a sound coming from the south, a rhythmical sound that announced the approach of a loping horse. Two of the three men drew quickly behind a great bowlder, the third behind another upon the opposite side of the road. Silence once more enveloped the seemingly deserted canyon.
The Apache waited, watching. The loping horse drew nearer. It entered the lower end of the canyon and presently came withinrange of Shoz-Dijiji's vision. Its rider was a girl - a white girl. As she came abreast of the three whites they rode directly into the trail and barred her passage, and as she sought to wheel her horse one of them reached out and seized her bridle rein.
The girl reached for a six-shooter that hung at her hip, but another of the three had slipped from his saddle and run to her side. Now he grasped her wrist, tore the weapon from its holster, and dragged the girl to the ground. It was all done very quickly. Shoz-Dijiji watched. His hatred of the men mounted.
He heard the conversation that passed between the men and the girl and understood it--understood that the men were going to take the girl away by force. He saw one of them-- the one that he was facing now in the back room of the Hog Ranch--jerk the girl roughly and order her to remount her horse.
Then the barrel of a rifle slid quietly from beneath the edge of a grey bowlder at the top of the canyon's wall, there was a loud report that resounded thunderously, and the man whose hand lay upon Wichita Billings dropped in his tracks.
From that moment to this Shoz-Dijiji had thought "Dirty" Cheetim dead, yet here he was in the flesh, looking him straight in the eye and smiling. Shoz-Dijiji knew that Cheetim would not be smiling if he had recognized Shoz- Dijiji.
"How, John!" exclaimed the white man. "Mebby so you want red-eye, eh?"
In no slightest degree did Shoz-Dijiji register by any changed expression the surprise he felt at seeing this man alive, nor the hatred that he felt for him, nor the terrific urge he experienced to kill him. He looked at him just once, briefly, and then ignored him as he did his greeting and his question. Instead he turned to the Apache standing behind Cheetim.
It was Gian-nah-tah. In one hand he held a glass of whiskey, in the other a bottle. Shoz-Dijiji looked straight into the eyes of his friend for a moment, and those of Gian-nah-tah wavered and dropped beneath the steady, accusing gaze of the Black Bear; then the latter spoke in the language of the Shis-Inday.
"Gian-nah-tah, you are a fool!" said Shoz-Dijiji. "Of all the things that the white-eyed men have to offer the Apache only their weapons and their ammunition are of any value to us--all else is vile. And you, Gian-nah-tah, choose the vilest. You are a fool!
"Our own tizwin and the mescal of the Mexicans is bad medicine, but this fire-water of the white-eyed men is poison. To drink it is the madness of a fool, but even worse is the drinking of it in friendship with the white- eyed dogs.
"You are a fool to drink it- you are a traitor to drink with the enemies of your people. Put down the glass and the bottle, and come with me!"
Gian-nah-tah looked up angrily now. Already he had had a couple of drinks of the vile concoction, and they had had their effect upon. him.
"Gian-nah-tah is a warrior!" he exclaimed, "not a child. Who are you to tell Gian-nah-tah to do this, or not to do that, or to come or go?"
"I am his best friend," said Shoz-Dijiji, simply.
"Then go away and mind your own business!" snapped Gian- nah-tah, and he raised the glass to his lips.
With the swift, soft sinuosity of a cat Shoz-Dijiji stepped forward and struck the glass from his friend's hand and almost in the same movement seized the bottle and hurled it to the floor .
"Here, you damn Siwash!" cried Cheetim; "what the hell you think you're doin'?" He advanced belligerently. Shoz-Dijiji turned upon the white man. Towering above him he gave the fellow one look that sent him cowering back. Perhaps it was fortunate for the peace of San Carlos that "Dirty" Cheetim had left his gun behind the bar, for he was the type of bad-man that shoots an unarmed adversary.
But Gian-nah-tah, Be-don-ko-he warrior, was not thus a coward; and his finer sensibilities were numbed by the effects of the whiskey he had drunk. He did not shrink from Shoz-Dijiji. Instead, he whipped his knife from its scabbard and struck a savage blow at the breast of his best friend.
Shoz-Dijiji had turned away from Cheetim just in time to meet Gian-nah-tah's attack. Quickly he leaped aside as the knife fell and then sprang close again and seized Gian-nah- tah's knife wrist with the fingers of his left hand. Like a steel vise his grip tightened. Gian-nah-tah struck at him with his free hand, but Shoz-Dijiji warded the blow.
"Drop it !" commanded the Black Bear and struck Gian-nah- tah across the face with his open palm. The latter struggled to free himself, striking futilely at the giant that held him.
"Drop it!" repeated Shoz-Dijiji. Again he struck Gian-nah- tah--and again, and again. His grasp tightened upon the other's wrist, stopping the circulation--until Gian-nah-tah thought that his bones were being crushed. His fingers relaxed. The knife clattered to the floor. Shoz-Dijiji stooped quickly and recovered it; then he released his hold upon Gian-nah-tah.
"Go!" commanded the Black Bear, pointing toward the doorway.
For an instant Gian-nah-tah hesitated; then he turned and walked from the room. Without even a glance in the direction of Cheetim, Shoz-Dijiji followed his friend. As they passed the bar the girl called Goldie smiled into the face of Shoz-Dijiji.
"Come down and see me sometime, John," she said.
Without a word or a look the Apache passed out of the building, away from the refining influences of white man's civilization.
Sullenly, Gian-nah-tah walked to where two ponies were tied. From the tie-rail he unfastened the hackamore rope of one of them and vaulted to the animal's back. In silence Shoz-Dijiji handed Gian-nah-tah his knife. In silence the other Apache took it, wheeled his pony, and loped away toward the Be-don-ko-he village. Astride Nejeunee Shoz- Dijiji followed slowly--erect, silent, somber; only his heart was bowed, in sorrow.
As Shoz-Dijiji approached the village he met Geronimo and two warriors riding in the direction of the military post. They were angry and excited. The old War Chief beckoned Shoz-Dijiji to join them.
"What has happened?" asked the Black Bear.
"The soldiers have come and driven away our herd," replied Geronimo.
"Where are you going?"
"I am going to see Nan-tan-des-la-par-en," replied Geronimo, "and ask him why the soldiers have stolen our horses and cattle. It is always thus when we would live at peace with the white-eyed men they will not let us. Always they do something that arouses the anger of the Shis-Inday and makes the young braves want to go upon the war trail. Now, if they do not give us back our cattle, it will be difficult to keep the young men in peace upon the reservation--or the old men either."
At the post Geronimo rode directly to headquarters and demanded to see General Crook, and a few minutes later the four braves were ushered into the presence of the officer.
"I have been expecting you, Geronimo,,' said Crook.
"Then you knew that the soldiers were going to steal our herds?" demanded the War Chief.
"They have not stolen them, Geronimo," replied the officer. "It is you who stole them. They do not belong to you. The soldiers have taken them away from you to return them to their rightful owners. Every time you steal horses or cattle they will be taken away from you and returned. You promised me once that you would not steal any more, but yet you went out and killed and stole."
"We did not go upon the war trail against the white-eyed men," replied Geronimo. "We were going down into Mexico, and your soldiers attacked us and tried to stop us."