20 Western Novels You Should Read

Chapter 16

Chapter 12

"SHOZ-DIJIJI KNOWS!"LUIS MARIEL had attached himself to "B" Troop. He rode with it,

made himself generally useful around camp; and, in return, they fed

him. Incidentally he picked up a smattering of English that was

much more effective than the original brand formerly purveyed by

Mr. Webster, and learned to ask for either bacon or potatoes

through the medium of set phrases that contained at least ten

obscene or blasphemous words and did not mention either bacon or

potatoes by their right names. He also discovered that one may call

an American anything, provided that one smiles.

Much to his surprise he discovered that he liked the Gringoes,

and because he was young and bright and good natured the soldiers

liked Luis.

He had been with them four or five days when Lieutenant Samuel

Adams King, half starved and rather the worse for wear, rode into

camp upon an equally starved pony that Luis immediately recognized

as having formerly belonged to one of his fellow vaqueros who had

been killed by the Apache Devil.

Being a privileged character Luis was present when King reported

to his troop commander; and when, through the medium of much

profanity, a great deal of Spanish, and a few words of remote

English origin he had indicated that he knew something about the

pony King was riding, an interpreter was summoned and Luis told his

story to Captain Cullis and the officers accompanying him.

"Well, King," commented Cullis, "you have achieved all the

distinction of a museum piece. You should have a place in the

Smithsonian Institution."

"How so, sir?"

"As the only white man who ever fell into the hands of the

Apache Devil and lived to tell about it. I can't account for it.

Can you?"

For a moment King hesitated before he replied, and then: "No,

sir," he said, "I cannot."

During that instant of hesitation King had weighed his duty as

an officer against the demands of gratitude. He knew that there was

a price upon the head of the Apache Devil that might spell his

death at the hands of any white man, as an outlaw, even after peace

was restored and the renegades returned to the reservation. He was

confident that he alone knew that Shoz-Dijiji and the Apache Devil

were one and the same, provided of course that the young Mexican

was correct in his assumption that the Apache who had captured him

actually was the Apache Devil.

Perhaps the lad was mistaken.King determined to give Shoz-Dijiji

the benefit of the doubt. Gratitude would not permit him to do

less.

It being evident that some of the renegades were returning to

the United States, "B" Troop was ordered above the border; and with

it went Luis Mariel, seeking new adventures. He attached himself to

Lieutenant King and crossed the border as the officer's civilian

servant.

King, who had taken a liking to the lad, helped him with his

English, learned to trust him, and eventually dispatched him to the

Billings' ranch with Nejeunee and a note to Wichita Billings asking

her to take care of the little pinto war pony until King returned

from the campaign.

And so Luis Mariel, the son of the woodchopper of Casa Grande,

rode away; and with him went Nejeunee.

Up into New Mexico, making their way toward the range of

mountains near Hot Springs, rode Geronimo and Shoz-Dijiji with five

other warriors and four women. They had found it necessary to

abandon the herd that Shoz-Dijiji had captured because of the

impossibility of moving it through hostile country where every

trail was patrolled by soldiers and every water hole guarded.

Keeping to the mountains by day, crossing the valleys under

cover of night, the eleven rode north. On several occasions they

were forced to pass cattle ranches, but they committed no

depredations other than the killing of an occasional beef for

food.

Their greatest hardship was shortage of water as they could not

approach the well guarded water holes and wells, and there was a

time during which they had no water for two days. They suffered

greatly, and their horses all but died from thirst.

Any but Apaches would have been forced to surrender under like

conditions; but, being Apaches, they knew every place where water

might be found; and so they came at last to one such place, which

was not guarded because the white men did not know of its

existence. It was hidden in the depths of a remote, parched canyon

far beneath the hard baked surface of the ground; but it was there

for the digging, and in such an unlikely spot that there was

scarcely a remote possibility that soldiers would interfere with

the digging.

From hill tops that commanded a view of the country in all

directions three keen eyed warriors watched while others dug for

the precious water that would give them all, and their jaded mounts

as well, a new lease on life.

And when they had drunk and their crude water bottles had been

refilled, they replaced the sand and the rocks in the hole they had

made; and so nicely did they erase every sign of their presence

that only an Apache might have known that they had stopped

there.

Into their old stamping grounds they came at last; and so

cleverly had they eluded the soldiers that they ranged there in

peace for weeks, while the troops searched for them in Arizona and

Mexico.

Geronimo, handicapped by the paucity of his following,

nevertheless kept scouts afield who watched the movements of the

troops and kept fairly well in touch with the progress of the

campaign through the medium of friendly reservation Indians.

Shoz-Dijiji was often engaged in some enterprise of this nature,

and upon one occasion he went into the heart of the reservation at

San Carlos. Returning, he rode through familiar mountains along an

unmarked trail that recalled many memories of other days.

Shoz-Dijiji rode out of his way and against his better judgment.

He was an Apache, iron willed and schooled to self-denial; but he

was human, and so he would t*****e his poor heart by riding a trail

that he had once ridden with her.

He would ride near the ranch. Perhaps he might see her, but she

would never know that he was near.

The war chief of the Be-don-ko-he dreamed and, dreaming, relaxed

his vigilance. Love, sorrow, reminiscence dulled his faculties for

the moment. Otherwise he would never have been so easily

surprised.The way he had chosen led here down the steep declivity

of a canyon side and along the canyon's bottom for a few hundred

yards to a point where a nimble pony might clamber up the opposite

side. It was very hot in the sun scorched cleft and very quiet. The

only sound was the crunching of gravelly soil beneath unshod hoofs

— the hoofs of the pony Shoz-Dijiji rode down the canyon and the

hoofs of another pony bearing a rider up the canyon.

Perhaps chance so synchronized the gaits of the two animals that

the footfalls of each hid those of the other from the ears of their

riders. Perchance Fate — but why speculate?

The fact remains that as Shoz-Dijiji rounded an abrupt turn he

came face to face with the other pony and its rider. Surprise was

instantly reflected upon the face of the latter; but the Apache,

though equally surprised, let no indication of it disturb the

imperturbability of his countenance.Each reined in instantly and,

for a moment, sat eyeing the other in silence. Shoz-Dijiji was the

first to speak.

"You are alone?" he demanded.

"Yes."

"Why you ride alone when the Apaches are on the war-trail?" he

asked, sternly.

"The Apaches are my friends. They will not harm me."

"Some of the Be-don-ko-he Apaches are your friends, white girl;

but there are others on the war trail who are not your friends,"

replied Shoz-Dijiji. "There are Cho-kon-en and Ned-ni with

Geronimo."

"Shoz-Dijiji and Geronimo would not let them harm me."

"Shoz-Dijiji and Geronimo are not like the God of the white-eyed

men — they cannot be here, there, and everywhere at the same

time."

Wichita Billings smiled. "But perhaps He guides them to the

right place at the right time," she suggested."Are you not here

now, Shoz-Dijiji, instead of a Cho-kon-en or a Ned-ni?"

"You have strong medicine, white girl; but so did the great

izze-nantan, Nakay-do-klunni. He made strong medicine that turned

away the bullets of the white-eyed soldiers, but at Cibicu Creek

they killed him. The best medicine is to stay out of danger."

"Well, to tell you the truth, Shoz-Dijiji," admitted the girl,

"I did not dream that there was a renegade within a hundred miles

of here."

"When the Shis-Inday are on the war trail they are like your God

— they are here, there, and everywhere."

"Are there others with you, Shoz-Dijiji?"

"No, I am alone."

"What are you doing here? Were you — were you coming to the

ranch, Shoz-Dijiji?" she asked, hesitatingly. "Were you coming to

see me?" There was potential gladness in her voice.

"Shoz-Dijiji has been scouting," replied the Apache. "He is

returning to the camp of Geronimo."

"But you were going to stop and see me, Shoz-Dijiji," she

insisted.

"No. It would have made trouble. Your father does not like

Shoz-Dijiji, and he would like to kill a renegade. Shoz- Dijiji

does not wish to be killed. Therefore there would be trouble."

"My father is sorry for the things he said to you, Shoz- Dijiji.

Come to the ranch, and he will tell you so. He was angry, because

he was very fond of Mason; and you know that they had just found

Mason murdered — and scalped."

"Shoz-Dijiji knows. He knows more about that than your father.

Shoz-Dijiji knows that it was not an Apache that killed Mason."

"How do you know? Do you know who did kill him? He was

scalped."

"Are the white-eyed men such fools that they think that only an

Apache can scalp? If they were not such fools they would know that

it is only occasionally that Apaches do take the scalps of their

enemies. They do know this, but they do not want to admit it. They

know that whenever a white-eyed man wishes to kill an enemy he need

only scalp him to convince everyone that Apaches did it, because

everyone wishes to believe that every murder is done by

Apaches.

"Yes, I know who killed Mason and why. He was robbed in

Cheetim's Hog Ranch, and he had sworn to get Cheetim. He was

looking for him with a g*n. Cheetim hired a man to ride out with

Mason and shoot him in the back. That is all.

"Now come. Shoz-Dijiji ride back with you until you are near the

ranch. You must not ride alone again even if you are not afraid of

the Apaches, for there are bad men among the white-eyes — men who

would harm you even more surely than an Apache."

He motioned her to precede him up the steep canyon side; and

when the two ponies had scrambled to the summit he rode at her

side, where the ground permitted, as they walked their ponies in

the direction of the Billings ranch.

For a while they rode in silence, the Apache constantly on the

alert against another and more dangerous surprise, the girl

thoughtful, her face reflecting the cast of sadness in which her

thoughts were molded.

Wichita Billings knew that the man at her side loved her. She

knew that she was drawn to him more than to any other man that she

had ever known, but she did not know that this attraction

constituted love. Raised as she had been in an atmosphere of racial

hatred, schooled in ignorance and bigotry by people who looked upon

every race and nation, other than their own race and nation, as

inferior, she could scarce believe it possible that she could give

her love to an Indian; and so her mind argued against her heart

that it was not love that she felt for him but some other emotion

which should be suppressed.

Shoz-Dijiji, on his part, realized the barrier that prejudice

had erected between them and the difficulty that the white girl

might have to surmount it in the event that she loved him. He, too,

had faced a similar barrier in his hatred of the white race, but

that his love had long since leveled. A greater obstacle, one which

he could not again face, was the hurt that his pride had suffered

when she had recoiled from his embrace.

Thoughts such as these kept them silent for some time until

Wichita chanced to recall Nejeunee.

"Shoz-Dijiji,"she exclaimed, "where is your pinto war pony?"

The Apache shrugged. "Who knows?"

"What became of him? Is he dead, or did you lose him in

battle?"

"We were starving," said the Apache. "We had eaten all the

ponies except Nejeunee. It was in Sonora. Your soldiers were

pressing us on one side, the Mexicans upon the other. At night I

led Nejeunee close to the picket line of the white-eyed soldiers. I

have not seen him since."

"You were very fond of Nejeunee, Shoz- Dijiji."

"In Apache Nejeunee means friend," said the man. "One by one all

of my friends are being taken from me. Nejeunee was just one more.

Usen has forgotten Shoz-Dijiji."

"Perhaps not," replied Wichita. "What would you say if I told

you that Nejeunee is alive and that I know where he is?"

"I should say that after all Usen has at last been good to me in

giving me you as a friend. Tell me where he is."

"He's on our ranch — in the back pasture."

"On your ranch? How did Nejeunee get there?"

"You left him near the picket line of Lieutenant King's troop,

and when they got back across the border he sent him up to me."

"King did not tell me."

"You have seen the lieutenant?"

"We met in Chihuahua," said Shoz-Dijiji. "And you talked with

him?"

"Yes."

"But you were on the war path, and he was after you. How could

you have met and talked?"

"King and Shoz-Dijiji went into the cattle business

together."

"What do you mean?" demanded Wichita.

"When you see King ask him. He will tell you."

"Were you two alone together?"

"Yes, for a day and a night."

"And you did not kill him?"

"No. Shoz-Dijiji does not kill anyone that you love."

"Oh, Shoz-Dijiji," exclaimed the girl, "I can't tell you how

much I appreciate that; but really you are mistaken in thinking

that I love Lieutenant King."

"All right, next time I kill him."

"No, oh, no, you mustn't do that."

"Why not? He is on the war trail against me. He kill me all

right, if he get the chance.If you no love him, I kill him."

"But he is my friend, my very good friend," insisted the girl.

"He is your friend, too, Shoz-Dijiji. If I ask you not to kill him

will you promise me that you wont?"

"Shoz-Dijiji promise you he no try to kill King. Mebbe so, in

battle, Shoz-Dijiji have to kill him. That he cannot help."

"Oh, Shoz-Dijiji, why don't you come in and stop fighting us? It

is so useless. You can never win; and you are such a good man,

Shoz-Dijiji, that it seems a shame that you should sacrifice your

life uselessly."

"No, we can never win. We know that, but what else is there for

us? The white-eyed men make war upon us even in peace. They treat

us like enemies and prisoners. We are men, the same as they. Why do

they not treat us like men? They say that we are bad men and that

we t*****e our prisoners and that that is bad. Do they not torture

us? We t*****e the bodies of our enemies, but the white men torture

our hearts. Perhaps all the feelings of the white-eyed men are in

their bodies, but that is not so with the Shis-Inday. Bad words and

bad looks make wounds in our hearts that hurt us more than a knife

thrust in the body. The body wounds may heal but the heart wounds

never — they go on hurting forever. No, I shall not come in. I am a

war chief among the Be-don-ko-he. Shall I come in to be a 'dirty

Siwash' among the white-eyes?"

For a while the girl was silent after the Apache had ceased

speaking. Their patient ponies stepped daintily along the rough

trail. The descending sun cast their shadows, grotesquely, far

ahead. The stifling heat of midday was gradually giving place to

the promise of the coming cool of evening.

"We are almost home," said the girl, presently. "I wish you

would come and talk with my father. He is not a bad man. Perhaps he

can find some way to help you."

"No," said Shoz-Dijiji. "His people and my people are at war.

His heart is not friendly toward Apaches. It is better that I do

not come."

"But you want to get Nejeunee," insisted the girl.

"You have told me where Nejeunee is. I will get him."

She did not insist, and again they rode in silence until the

warrior reined. in his pony just below the summit of a low hill.

Beyond the hill, but hidden from their sight, stood the Billings

ranch house.

"Good-bye," said Shoz-Dijiji. "I think perhaps we never see each

other again. When the soldiers come back from Mexico we go back

there and do not come to this country any more."

"Oh, Shoz-Dijiji," cried the girl, "I do not want you to

go."

"Shoz-Dijiji does not want to go," he replied. "Your people have

driven Shoz-Dijiji from his own country."

"I should think that you would hate me, Shoz-Dijiji."

"No, I do not hate you. I love you," he said simply.

"You must not say that, Shoz-Dijiji," she answered, sadly.

"If Shoz-Dijiji was a white-eyed man, you would listen," he

said.

She was silent.

"Tell me," he demanded, "is that not true?"

"Oh, God! I don't know, I don't know," she cried.

"Shoz-Dijiji knows," said the Be-don-ko-he. "Good-bye!"

He wheeled his pony and rode away.

The sun was setting as Wichita Billings dismounted wearily at

the corral back of the ranch house. Luke Jensen came from the bunk

house to take her pony.

"Where's Dad?" she asked.

"One of the boys found a beef killed this mornin'. He said it

looked like Injuns hed done it. Yore Dad rid over to hev a look at

it. He ought to be back right smart soon now." Luke glanced over

across the back pasture toward the east.

Wichita knitted her brows. "Did he go that way?" she asked.

"Yep," assented Luke.

"Get one of the other boys to go with you, and ride out and meet

him. If Apaches killed the beef there may be some of them around."

Wichita turned toward the ranch house, hesitated, and then walked

back to Luke.

"Luke," she said, "you don't hate all Indians do you?"

"You know I don't, Miss.I'd a bin dead now ef it hedn't a-bin

fer one of 'em. Why?"

"Well, if you ever meet an Apache, Luke! remember that, and

don't shoot until you're plumb sure he's hostile."

Jensen scratcped his head. "Yes, Miss," he said, "but what's the

idee?"

"There may be friendly Indians around, and if you should shoot

one of them," she explained, "the rest might turn hostile."

As Wichita walked toward the house Luke stood looking after

her.

"I don't reckon she's gone loco," he soliloquized, "but she

shore better watch herself."

It was ten o'clock before Luke Jensen returned to the ranch. He

went immediately to the house and knocked on the door, entering at

Wichita's invitation.

"Your Dad back?" he demanded.

"No. Didn't you see anything of him?"

"Nary hide nor hair."

"Where do you suppose he can be?"

"1 dunno. They's Indians around, though. I bumped plumb into one

tother side of the willows in the draw outside the fer pasture

gate, an' who do you reckon it was? Why none other than that

Shoz-Dijiji fellow what give me a lift that time. He must-a thought

some o' the hosses in the pasture were comin' through them willows,

fer he never tried to hide hisself at all. I jest rid plumb on top

o' him. He knew me, too. I couldn't help but think o' wot you told

me just before I left about bein' sure not to shoot up any

friendly. Say, did you know he was around?"

"How could I know that?" demanded Wichita.

"I dunno," admitted Luke, scratching his head; "but it did seem

dern funny to me."

"It's funny the man with you didn't take a shot at him,"

commented Wichita. "Most all of the boys believe in shooting an

Apache first and inquiring about his past later."

"There wasn't no one with me," explained Luke. "There wasn't no

one around but me when I left, and I didn't want to waste time

waiting fer someone to show up. Anyways, I kin see alone jest as

fer as I kin with help."

"Well, I reckon he'll be coming along pretty soon, Luke," said

Wichita. "Good night."

"Good night, Miss," replied Jensen.