In Sonora a savage chieftain had been raiding with a handful of his fierce warriors. Now he was slinking northward bearing his loot on stolen mules. It was Juh, chief of the Ned-ni; cruel, relentless Juh; Juh the Butcher. He crossed the Sierra Madre and dropped down into Chihuahua just above Janos. Mexican herders saw him and word was sent to the officer in command of the troops camped by Casas Grandes. Thus did Juh, unguessing, befriend Shoz-Dijiji, for the soldiers broke their camp and rode away toward Janos, leaving the field clear for the Black Bear.
The soldiers did not catch Juh, for that wily old villain pushed on by night and by day until the boundary lay south of him. Then he turned west and entered Arizona and the domain of Na-chi-ta, son of Cochise-the domain of the Ch-kon-en. Here, he had heard, Geronimo was camped with his Be-don-ko-he. There was a very good reason that never left the determined mind of Juh why he wanted to visit the Be-don-ko-he, for he had not relinquished the hope that he might yet win Ish-kay-nay, nor did he care by what means, being as little concerned by questions of ethics as are most white men.
One day his party came upon a little pinto stallion feeding upon the sparse vegetation in the bottom of a coulee, a pinto stallion that looked up and nickered when he caught the familiar scent spoor of his master's people, and then came limping toward them.
Juh recognized Nejeunee and wondered. When the animal followed along with them he made no effort to turn it back, and so he came to the camp of Geronimo with the war pony of Shoz-Dijiji limping in the rear.
The finding of Nejeunee lame and at a distance from the camp of the Be-don-ko-he had set Juh to thinking. It might mean any one of a number of things but particularly it suggested the likelihood of Shoz-Dijiji's absence; for a good war pony is cherished by its owner, and it seemed improbable that if Shoz-Dijiji was with the tribe that he would have permitted his pony to remain thus at the mercy of the first band of raiders, white or red, that might chance upon it. Unquestionably, Shoz-Dijiji had ridden his pony from camp and 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 importuning of the old warrior for the hand of his daughter, nor did he mention Shoz-Dijiji, but he learned all that he wished to know--that Ish-kay-nay had accepted the advances of his rival and that the latter had gone to find the fifty ponies that the old man had demanded.
"He promised Ish-kay-nay that he would return with the full moon," said the old man, "but the time is almost gone and nothing has been heard of him. Perhaps he will not return."
Cunning, unscrupulous, Juh seized upon his opportunity. "He will not return," he said. "Shoz-Dijiji is dead." The old man looked pleased. "In Sonora he was killed by the Mexicans. There we were told that a young warrior had been killed while attempting to drive off a bunch of horses. We did not know who he was until we found his 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 the father of Ish-kay-nay fifteen ponies."
"The other was to have given me fifty," said the old man.
Juh laughed. "That was talk," he said. "How could he give you fifty ponies when he had but three? I have fifteen ponies; that is better than fifty that do not exist."
"You have more than fifteen ponies," the old man reminded him.
"Yes, I have many more, and I am a great chief. Juh can do many things for the father of Ish-kay-nay."
"Twenty-five ponies," suggested the other, preferring twenty-five ponies to the chance that Juh would forget the less concrete suggestion of future obligation.
"Fifteen ponies and five mules," said Juh.
"Twenty-five ponies. The girl is a good daughter. My heart will be heavy with sorrow when she is gone."
"Twenty ponies and five mules," snapped Juh with finality, turning upon his heel.
"And a rifle," added the father of Ish-kay-nay.
"And a rifle," acquiesced the chief of the Ned-ni.
"And ammunition," exclaimed the old man, hurriedly; but the deal was made on the basis of twenty ponies, five mules and a rifle.
Ish-kay-nay, sitting beneath the shade of a tree, was sewing pretty beads upon a bit of buckskin, using an awl and deer sinew. She hummed contentedly to herself as she planned for the future--the long, happy future with Shoz-Dijiji. She would make many pretty things for them both and for their tepee. Later she would make other pretty things, tiny things, for future war chiefs. Her father found her thus.
"Shoz-Dijiji will not return," he said.
She looked up at him quickly, sensing a new note in a statement that she had already heard many times since her lover had departed. Heretofore the statement had implied only hope, now it was redolent of sweet relief.
"Why?" she asked.
"He is dead."
The heart of Ish-kay-nay went cold and numb within her, but the expression upon her face underwent no change. "Who says so?" she demanded.
"Juh."
"Either Juh lies, or he has himself slain Shoz-Dijiji," said the girl.
"Juh does not lie, nor has he slain Shoz-Dijiji." Then he told her all that Juh had told him. "I am an old man," he continued. "I have not long to live. Before I die I would see my daughter, whom I love, safe with a great warrior. Juh is a great warrior. He will treat you well. He has many women and you will not have to work hard. If he ties his pony before our tepee Ish-kay-nay will lead it to water and feed it?"
"I do not believe that Shoz-Dijiji is dead," she said.
"If you did, would you go to Juh?"
"I would not care what became of me if Shoz-Dijiji were dead."
"He is dead," said the old man.
"The moon is not yet full," urged Ish-kay-nay.
"If Shoz-Dijiji has not returned when next klego-na-ay rides across the heavens will Ish-kay-nay listen with favor to the words of Juh?"
"If Shoz-Dijiji has not returned then," she said wearily, "Juh may tie his pony before our tepee. Then Ish-kay-nay will know what to do. She does not give her answer before."
This word the old man bore to Juh and the two had to be satisfied with it, though Juh, knowing Ish-kay-nay of old, would have preferred something more definite as he had no stomach for another public rebuff.
Day after day early morning found an Apache girl standing solitary and sad upon a commanding mountain looking ever with straining eyes out toward the south--looking for a mighty figure, a loved figure, a figure that never came. Sometimes she stood there all day long, watching, waiting.
She hated to go to the tepee of her father, for the old man talked always of Juh and of her duty, of the honor of being the squaw of a great chief; and so she crept there late at night and hid in her blankets, feigning sleep, sleep that would not come. Often she went to another tepee where an aging man and an aging woman sat silent and sorrowing, to the tepee of Geronimo went Ish-kay-nay, mingling her voiceless agony with theirs.
One day old Nakay-do-klunni, the Izze-nan-tan, rode into camp of the Be-don-ko-he and numb within her, but the expression upon her face underwent no change. "Who says so? she demanded.
"Either Juh lies, or he has himself slain Shoz-Dijiji," said the girl.
"Juh does not lie, nor has he slain Shoz-Dijiji." Then he told her all that Juh had told him. "I am an old man," he continued. "I have not long to live. Before I die I would see my daughter, whom I love, safe with a great warrior Juh is a great warrior. He will treat you well. He has many women and you will not have to work hard. If he ties his pony before our tepee Ish-kay-nay will lead it to water and feed it?"