It was, therefore, a rather bitter, bloodthirsty savage who came suddenly face to face with a young white girl where no white girl, young or old, should have been upon this September day in Arizona, with the Apaches burning, killing, ravishing across half a dozen counties. She sat beneath the scant shade of a small bush in a ravine well removed from any trail, and that was why it happened that Shoz-Dijiji was face to face with her before he was aware that there was another human being near.
At sight of him the girl sprang to her feet, drawing her Colt, an act that was duplicated with even greater celerity by the young brave, but neither fired--"Shoz-Dijiji!" exclaimed the girl, lowering the muzzle of her weapon. A sudden, friendly smile illuminated her face. Perhaps it was the smile that saved her from sudden death. Shoz-Dijiji was an Apache. His standards of right and wrong were not as ours, and further, he had only one set, and they applied to his friends--for his relations with the enemies of his people he had none. But there must have been something in that friendly smile that influenced him more surely than all the teachings of his elders, more potent even than all his natural inclinations.
Shoz-Dijiji returned his six-shooter to its holster and smiled back at her.
"Wichita Billings," he said.
"What in the world are you doing here?" demanded the girl. "Don't you know that there are soldiers everywhere hunting the Cheeracows? Oh, I forgot! If you could only sabe."
"Here," thought Shoz-Dijiji, "I may be able to learn what is happening between the soldiers and my people." So, as often happens, the ignorant savage sabed when it was to his interest.
"Me savvy," announced Shoz-Dijiji. "Shoz-Dijiji talk English good."
"Why, you told me when I saw you before that you didn't," exclaimed the girl.
Shoz-Dijiji smiled. "Me savvy," he repeated. "Tell me where all these soldiers go? Where are my people that you call Cheeracows?"
"They've gone out--they're on the warpath--and they're just naturally raisin' hell.
"Didn't you know, or, Shoz-Dijiji, are you with a war party?"
"No, Shoz-Dijiji alone. Been away. Come back. No find people. Shoz-Dijiji is looking for his people, that is all. You tell him. Where are they?"
"They been mostly around Fort Apache," said the girl. "There was a fight at Cibicu Creek and they killed a lot of soldiers. Then they attacked the fort. Old Whoa was leading them."
Shoz-Dijiji, watching the girl as she talked, was struck by her beauty. To him it seemed to have a wonderful quality that he had not noticed upon their previous meeting, even though he had then been impressed by her good looks. If he had not loved Ish-kay-nay with such fierce devotion perhaps he might have seen in Wichita Billings a mate well suited to a great war chief.
"Were many Indians killed at Cibicu Creek?" asked Shoz-Dijiji. "Were their women there with them?"
"I have not heard but just a little of the fight," replied Wichita. "Captain Hentig and some of his men were killed and old Bobby-doklinny."
Shoz-Dijiji knew whom she meant, just as he had known that she referred to Juh when she spoke of Whoa--these white-eyes were most ignorant, they could not pronounce the simplest names.
"Do you know if Geronimo went out?" he asked.
"He wasn't with Whoa at Cibicu but we just heard today that the renegades are on their way toward the border and that Geronimo has joined them. It sure looks like a hard winter. I wish to God we'd never left Kansas. Believe me, the East is good enough for Wichita Billings! Say, Shoz-Dijiji, are you sure you aint a renegade?"
"Shoz-Dijiji friendly," he assured her.
"Then you better come in with me and give yourself up or the soldiers will sure get you. They aint askin' no questions when they see a Cheeracow--they just plug him. You come on in to the ranch with me, there's a detachment of 'E' Troop there now, and I'll see that they don't hurt you."
Shoz-Dijiji extended a slow hand and laid it on the girl's arm. His face grew very serious and stern as his dark eyes looked into hers. "Listen, white girl," he said. "Shoz-Dijiji said he is friendly. Shoz-Dijiji does no speak lies. He is friendly--to you. Shoz-Dijiji no harm you. Do not be afraid. But Shoz-Dijiji not friend to the white soldiers. Not friend to the white people--only you.
"Shoz-Dijiji is war chief among the Be-don-ko-he. His place is with the warriors of his people. You say there are soldiers at the hacienda of your father. Go! Tell them that Shoz-Dijiji, war chief among the Be-donko-he, is here in the hills. Tell them to try and catch him."
The girl shook her head. "No, Shoz-Dijiji, I will not go and tell them anything. You are my friend. I am your friend. You saved me once. I do not care whether you are a renegade or not. I will not tell them you are here, and if I can help you, I will."
Shoz-Dijiji looked at her in silence for what seemed a long time. He was puzzled. There was some quality possessed by the pindah lickoyee and the Mexicans that it was difficult for him to understand, objectively; yet, all unrealizing, he had just been instinctively practicing it himself. What she said recalled the action of the Mexican woodchopper that time at Casas Grandes; but he sensed no similarity between their friendly gratitude and his forbearance toward this beautiful enemy girl, or knew that his action was partially based on gratitude for a friendly smile and frank trustfulness. He thought he did not harm her simply because he did not wish to. He did not know that he could not have harmed her, that there was a force within him stronger even than his savage training.
"You will help Shoz-Dijiji?" he asked. "You can bet your boots I will," she assured him. "But how?"
"All night, all day Shoz-Dijiji have no water. There were soldiers at every spring, at every water hole. Shoz-Dijiji wants water and a horse."
"Hungry, too?"
"Apache always hungry," laughed the brave. "You wait here," she told him. "Where your horse?" he demanded.
She raised her palms to the level of her shoulders and shrugged. "The old son-of-a-gun pitched me clean off," she said. "That's why I was a-sittin' up here restin'. I been walking close to an hour and I'm dog-tired; but it's only a short jag to the house now. I may have to sneak out with a horse for you, so don't get worried if I ain't back before dark." She started away.
"I go with you," said Shoz-Dijiji.
"Oh, no! The soldiers might see you."
"I go a little way--where I can watch you. Mebbyso bad men around; mebbyso hostiles. Shoz-Dijiji go little way and watch."
Through the hills he went with her, walking ahead as a brave should, until they came within sight of the ranch house. Some cavalry mounts were tied to a corral fence; troopers were lolling in the shade of the bunk house swapping lies with the cowhands. An officer leaned in a back-tilted chair beside the doorway of the ranch house talking with Billings. Only Shoz-Dijiji's eyes and forehead showed above the top of the last hill above the wagon road where it entered the little flat in which stood the main ranch buildings, and they were screened from view by a small bush.
"Go," he said to the girl. "You will be safe now."
"Where will you wait?" she asked. "Here?"
"Yes."
She hesitated, her brow puckered in thought. "If I bring you a horse you will return at once to your tribe?" she demanded.
"Yes."
"If you meet any lone whites on the way will you promise me that you will not kill them?"
"Why?"
"I cannot bring you a horse to use in murdering my own people," she said.