20 Western Novels You Should Read

Chapter 18

"If it takes all the rest of my life and every acre and every

critter that I own, I'm going to get the man that killed my father;

and I'm starting now by offering a thousand dollars to the man who

brings in Shoz-Dijiji — dead!"

When she had ceased speaking she turned and walked back into the

house, closing the door after her.

The men, moving slowly toward the bunk house, talked together in

low tones, discussing the girl's offer.

Inside the house, Wichita Billings threw herself face down upon

a sofa and burst into tears.

Shoz-Dijiji slid from the back of the pinto war pony, Nejeunee,

in the camp of Geronimo and stood before the great war-chief of the

Apaches.

"Seven times, my son," said the old chief, "have I cast

hoddentin to the four winds at evening since you rode away; seven

times have I cast hoddentin to the four winds at dawn; twice seven

times have I prayed to the spirits whose especial duty it is to

watch over you to bring you back in safety. My prayers have been

answered. What word do you bring?"

"Shoz-Dijiji went to the reservatiop at San Carlos," replied the

young man. "None of our friends or relatives who went out upon the

war trail with us is there. I heard many stories, but I do not

speak of anything that I did not see with my own eyes or hear with

my own ears.

"There are many soldiers scouting everywhere. There are so many

that I think all the soldiers that were sent to Mexico after us

must have been called back to hunt for us here.

"The reservation Indians say that now that Miles is after us we

shall all be killed. They advise us to lay down our arms and

surrender. I think that very soon the soldiers will find our camp

here."

"You are a war chief, my son," said Geronimo. " Already you are

very wise. At the councils even the old men listen to you with

respect. What would you advise?"

"We are very few," replied Shoz-Dijiji, thoughtfuUy. "We cannot

take the war trail successfully against the pindah- lickoyee in

this country where we are. Sooner or later they will kill us or

capture us. This is no longer a good country for the Apache. It is

our country that Usen made for us, but we cannot be happy in it any

longer because of the pindah-lickoyee. Shoz-Dijiji does not wish to

live here any more. Let us go to Mexico. perhaps the soldiers of

the pindah-lickoyee will not again follow us into Mexico. There we

may live as we would wish to live and not as the pindah- lickoyee

want us to live."

"And we can punish the Mexicans for inviting the soldiers of the

pindah-lickoyee to come down to their country and kill us," added

Geronimo. "I think you have spoken true words. I think we should go

to Mexico. Perhaps there we shall find all of our friends and

relatives from whom we became separated when the soldiers were

hunting us in Sonora and Chihuahua. Perhaps we can even be happy

again. Who knows?"

And so it was that when the troopers of "B" Troop rode into the

camp of Geronimo a week later they found nothing but cold ashes

where the cooking fires had been and the debris of a deserted

Indian village that the Apaches had not taken their usual

precautions to hide, since they expected never again to return to

their beloved mountains.

Far to the south, below the line, frightened peons burned many

candles and said many prayers, for they had heard stories. A man

had found the bodies of three vaqueros, and he had seen the print

of an Apache moccasin in the camp where they had been killed. They

had not been tortured nor mutilated.

"The Apache Devil again!" whispered the peons.

A terrified freighter, a bullet through his shoulder, galloped

an exhausted mule into a little hamlet. The wagon train that he had

been with had been attacked by Apaches and all had been slain save

he, and with his own eyes he had recognized Geronimo.

"Holy Mother, preserve us! the Apache Devil, both!"

Leaving a trail of blood and ashes behind them the renegades

headed for the mountains near Casa Grande. Having committed no

depredations north of the line they felt confident that the United

States soldiers would not follow them into Sonora. Why should they?

There was nothing for the soldiers of the pindah-lickoyee to

avenge.

Thus the Apaches reasoned, since, in commonwith white men, they

possessed the very human trait of easily forgetting the wrongs that

they committed against others, even though they might always harbor

those that were committed against them. So now they either forgot

or ignored what the whites still considered just causes for

righteous anger — burnt ranches, stolen stock, tortured men, women,

and children, mutilated corpses that had emblazoned their trail

through Arizona from San Carlos to the border over a year before,

but the whites had no intention of permitting these occurrences to

go brown in their memories.

From one end of the country to the other Geronimo and his bloody

deeds occupied more front page newspaper space than any other

topic, and to the readers of the newspapers of all the civilized

world his name was a household word. For over a year the armies of

two nations had been futilely engaged in an attempt to capture or

kill a handful of men, women, and children. Geronimo and his

renegades had outwitted, outgeneraled, and outfought them, and now,

after again outwitting the army of the United States, they had come

back to Mexico and were meting out punishment to those, whom they

mistakenly believed were responsible for bringing United States

troops below the border to fight them, and in carrying out this

policy, they attacked every Mexican they saw after they crossed the

border, all the way to Casa Grande. Nor did they desist then.

South of Casa Grande, near a place which the Apaches called

Gosoda, a road wound out of the town through a mountain pass. Many

were the freight trains that lumbered through the dust along this

road; and near here hid Geronimo, the Apache Devil, and their

followers.

Here the renegades remained for some time, killing freighters,

taking what supplies they desired, and destroying the remainder;

but the reputation that this road achieved was such as to

discourage freighting for the nonce, though it attracted Mexican

soldiers in embarrassing numbers. Geronimo then led his followers

into the Sierra de Antunez Mountains where they found all that now

remained of their depleted tribe and learned that the United States

soldiers had not left the mountains of Mexico but, on the contrary,

were becoming more active than ever.

Geronimo was disheartened when he learned of this, for he had

banked wholly on the belief that he would be rid of the menace of

United States troops if he returned to Mexico without committing

more depredations in the United States.

"What are we to do?" he demanded at the council fire. "Every

man's hand is against us. If we return to the reservation we shall

be put in prison and killed; if we stay in Mexico they will

continue to send more and more soldiers to fight us."

"There is but one thing to do," replied Shoz-Dijiji when

Geronimo had finished. "We must continue fighting until we are all

killed. Already we are reckless of our lives, let us be more so,

let us give no quarter to anyone and ask no favors. It is better to

die on the war trail than to be put in prison and choked to death

with a rope about the neck. I, Shoz-Dijiji, shall continue to fight

the enemies of my people until I am killed. I have spoken."

"You are a young man," said Geronimo. "Your words are the words

of a young man. When I was young I wanted nothing better than to

fight, but now that I am getting old I should like a little peace

and quiet, although I should not object to fighting to obtain them

if I thought that I might win them thus.

"But now," he continued, sadly, "I cannot see any hope of

winning anything but death by fighting longer against the

pindah-lickoyee. There are too many of them, and they will not let

us rest. I would make a peace treaty with them, if I could."

"They do not want to make a peace treaty with us," said

Shoz-Dijiji. "They want only to kill us all that there may be no

more Apaches left to dispute the ownership of the land they have

stolen from us. Let the old men and the women and the children make

a peace treaty with the pindah-lickoyee. Shoz-Dijiji will never

make peace if it means that he must return to San Carlos and be a

reservation Indian."

"I think that we should make peace with them," said Na-chi- ta,

"if they will promise that we Shall not be killed."

"The promises of the pindah-lickoyee are valueless," growled a

warrior.

Thus they spoke around their council fires at night, and though

most of them wanted peace and none of them saw any other

alternative than death, they clung doggedly to the war trail.

During three months they had many skirmishes with the white

soldiers; and five times their camps were surprised, yet in no

instance were the troops of the pindah-lickoyee able either to

capture or defeat them; never was there a decisive victory for the

trained soldiers who so greatly outnumbered them.

In July 1886 Geronimo's force numbered some twenty-five fighting

men, a few women, and a couple of boys. Outside of their weapons

and the clothing that they wore they possessed a few hundred pounds

of dried meat and nineteen ponies — the sole physical resources at

their command to wage a campaign against a great nation that

already had expended a million dollars during the preceding

fourteen months in futile efforts to subjugate them and had

enlisted as allies the armed forces of another civilized power.

Moving farther and farther into Old Mexico as the troops pressed

them, the renegades were camped on the Yongi River, nearly three

hundred miles south of the boundary, late in July. They believed

that they had temporarily thrown their pursuers off the track and,

war weary, were taking advantage of the brief respite they had

earned to rest. Peace and quiet lay upon the camp beside the Yongi.

The braves squatted, smoking, or lay stretched in sleep. The squaws

patched war worn moccasins. There was little conversation and no

laughter. The remnant of a once powerful na tion was making its

last stand, bravely, without even the sustaining influence of

hope.

A rifle cracked. War whoops burst upon their ears. Leaping to

their feet, seizing the weapons that lay always ready at hand, the

renegades fell back as the soldiers and scouts of Lawton's command

charged their camp. The surprise had been complete, and in their

swift retreat the Apaches lost three killed; whom they carried off

with them, as they abandoned their supply of dried meat and their

nineteen ponies to the enemy. Now they had nothing left but their

weapons and their indomitable courage.

Clambering to inaccessible places among the rocks, where mounted

men could not follow, they waited until the soldiers withdrew.

Shoz-Dijiji arose and started down toward the camp.

"Where are you going?" demanded Geronimo.

"The white-eyes have taken Nejeunee," replied the war chief.

"Shoz-Dijiji goes to take his war pony from them."

"Good!" exclaimed Geronimo. "I go with you." He turned and

looked inquiringly at the other warriors before he followed

Shoz-Dijiji down the steep declivity. After the two came the

balance of the grim warriors.

Keeping to the hills, unseen, they followed Lawton's command in

the rear of which they saw their ponies being driven. As the hours

passed, Geronimo saw that the distance between the main body of

troopers and the pony herd was increasIng.

A few miles ahead was a small meadow just beyond which the trail

made a sharp turn around the shoulder of a hill. Geronimo whispered

to Shoz-Dijiji who nodded understanding and assent. The word was

passed among the other warriors; and at the same time Shoz-Dijiji

turned to the left to make a detour through the hills, while a

single warrior remained upon the trail of the troops.

At a smart trot the Be-don-ko-he war chief led his fellows

through the rough mountains. For an hour they pushed rapidly on

until Shoz-Dijiji dropped to his belly near the summit of a low

hill and commenced to worm his way slowly upward. Behind him came

twenty painted savages. In the rear of concealing shrubbery at the

hill top the Apache Devil stopped, and behind him stopped the

twenty.

Below Shoz-Dijiji was a little meadow. It lay very quiet and

peaceful in the afternoon sun, deserted; but Shoz- Dijiji knew that

it would not be deserted long. Already he could hear the approach

of armed men. Presently they came into sight. Captain Lawton rode

in advance. At his side was Lieutenant Gatewood. Behind them were

the scouts and the soldiers. The formation was careless, because

they all knew that the renegades, surprised and defeated, were far

behind them.

Shoz-Dijiji watched them pass. In the rear of the column he saw

Lieutenant King who had been temporarily detached from his own

troop to serve with this emergency command of Lawton's. The length

of the meadow they rode. The head of the column disappeared where

the trail turned the shoulder of a hill, and still Shoz-Dijiji and

the twenty lay quietly waiting.

Now half the column was out of sight. Presently Shoz-Dijiji

watched King disappear from view, and once again the little meadow

was deserted, but not for long.

A little pinto stallion trotted into view, stopped, pricked

dainty ears and looked about. Behind him came other ponies —

nineteen of them — and behind the ponies three sun parched troopers

in dusty, faded blue.

Silently Shoz-Dijiji arose, and behind him arose twenty other

painted warriors. They uttered no war whoops as they raced silently

down into the meadow in front of the ponies. There would be noise

enough in a moment; but they wished to delay the inevitable as long

as possible lest the main body of the command, warned by the sounds

of combat, should return to the meadow before the mission of the

Apaches was completed.

The first trooper to see them vented his surprise in lurid

profanity and spurred forward in an attempt to stampede the ponies

across the meadow before the renegades could turn them. His

companions joined him in the effort.

Shoz-Dijiji and six other warriors raced swiftly to intercept

the ponies, while the other renegades moved down to the turn in the

trail where they could hold up the troop should it return too

soon.

The Apache Devil whistled sharply as he ran and the pinto

stallion stopped, wheeled, and ran toward him. Three ponies,

frightened by the shouts of the soldiers, raced swiftly ahead,

passing Shoz-Dijiji and his six, passing the balance of the twenty

who had not yet reached their position, and disappeared around the

turn.

Shoz-Dijiji leaped to Nejeunee's back and headed the remaining

ponies in a circle, back in the direction from which they had come

and toward the six who had accompanied him.

It was then that one of the three soldiers opened fire, but the

Apaches did not reply. They were too busy catching mounts from the

frightened herd, and they had not come primarily to fight. When

they had recaptured their ponies there would be time enough for

that, perhaps, but it was certain that there was no time for it

now. They had their hands full for a few seconds, but eventually

seven warriors were mounted; and Geronimo and the remainder of the

renegades were coming down the meadow at a run as Shoz- Dijiji and

his six drove the herd along the back trail. Hopelessly

outnumbered, cut off from their fellows, the three troopers looked

for some avenue of escape and fell back in front of the herd,

firing. It was then that the Apaches opened fire; and at the first

volley one of the soldiers fell; and the other two turned and raced

for safety, rounding the side of the herd, they spurred their

mounts along the flank of the renegades. A few hasty shots were

sent after them; but the Apaches wasted no time upon them, and they

won through in safety while Shoz-Dijiji and the six urged the

ponies at a run along the back trail toward camp, as those on foot

took to the hills and disappeared just as Lawton's command came

charging to the rescue, too late.

Lawton followed the Apaches; but, being fearful of ambush, he

moved cautiously, and long before he could overtake them the

renegades had made good their escape.