Chapter 22
2112 Words
"Well, what do you think about it, Shoz-Dijiji?" parried
Luke.
"I think mebby so she give me' job, but Shoz-Dijiji not so damn
sure about her father. He no like Shoz-Dijiji."
"Don't you know that her ol' man's dead?" demanded Luke.
"Dead? No, Shoz-Dijiji not know that. Shoz-Dijiji been down in
Sonora long time. How he die?"
"He was murdered jest outside the east pasture and — scalped,"
said Luke.
"You mean by Apaches?"
"No one knows, but it looks damn suspicious."
"When thls happen?" demanded Shoz-Dijiji.
"We found him the mornin' after you took thet there pony out of
the east pasture."
Shoz-Dijiji sat in silence for a moment, his inscrutable face
masking whatever emotions were stirring within his breast.
"You mean they think Shoz-Dijiji kill Billings? Does Chita think
that, too?"
"Look here, Shoz-Dijiji," said J ensen, kindly, "you done me a
good turn oncet thet I aint a-never goin' to forgit. I don't mind
tellin' you I aint never thought you killed the ol' man, but
everyone else thinks so."
"Even Chita?" asked Shoz-Dijiji.
"I wouldn't say she does and I wouldn't say she doesn't, but she
aint never took off the thousand dollar reward she offered to any
hombre what would bring you in dead."
Not by the quiver of an eyelid did Shoz-Dijiji reveal the
anguish of his tortured heart as he listened to the words that
blasted forever the sole hope of happiness that had buoyed him
through the long days and nights of his journey up through hostile
Sonora and even more hostile Arizona.
"You get one thousand dollars, you kill me?" he asked.
"Yep."
"Why you no kill me, then?"
Jensen shrugged. "I reckon it must be for the same reason you
didn't kill me when you had the chancet, Shoz-Dijiji," he replied.
"There must be a streak of white in both of us."
"Good-bye," said!Shoz-Dijiji, abruptly. "I go now."
"Say, before you go would you mind tellin' me fer sure thet it
wasn't you killed the ol' man?" asked Luke.
Shoz-Dijiji looked the other squarely in the eyes. "If Wichita
Billings offer one thousand dollar reward to have Shoz-Dijiji
killed she must know Shoz-Dijiji kill her father. Good-bye.
Shoz-Dijiji ride straight up coulee, slowly. Mebby so you want one
thousand dollars, now you get it. Sabe?" He wheeled Nejeunee and
walked the pony slowly away while Luke Jensen, slouching in his
saddle, watched him until he had disappeared beyond a low
ridge.
Not once did Jensen experience any urge to reach for the
six-shooter at his hip or the rifle in its boot beneath his right
leg.
"I could shore use a thousand dollars," he mused as he turned
his pony's head back toward the Crazy B Ranch, "but I don't want it
thet bad."
As he rode into the ranch yard later in the afternoon he saw
Wichita Billings standing near the bunk house talking with
"Kansas." Luke was of a mind to avoid her, feeling, as he did, that
he should report his meeting with Shoz-Dijiji and dreadIng to do so
because of the fear that a posse would be organized to go out and
hunt the Apache down the moment that it was learned that he was in
the vicinity.
But when Wichita saw him she called to him, and there was
nothing less that he could do than go to her. She had finished her
conversation with "Kansas," and the latter had gone into the bunk
house when Luke reached her side.
"Walk up to the office with me, Luke," said the girl. "I want to
talk with you," and he fell in beside her as she walked along. "I
have just been talking with 'Kansas,'" she continued, "and he tells
me that a few head are missing off the north range. Did you miss
any today or see anything unusual?"
Had he seen anything unusual! There was a poser. Luke scratched
his head.
"I wouldn't say that they was any more critters missin';" he
replied, "an' I wouldn't say as they wasn't."
He looked down at the ground in evident embarrassment. Wichita
Billings, who knew these boys better than they knew themselves,
eyed him suspiciously. They walked on in silence for a few
moments.
"Look here, Luke," said the girl, presently. "Someone is
stealing my cattle. I don't know who to trust. I've always looked
to 'Smooth' and you and 'Kansas' and Matt as being the ones I sure
could tie to. If you boys don't shoot straight with me no one
will."
"Who said I warn't shootin' straight with you, Miss?" demanded
Luke.
"I say so," replied Wichita. "You're holding something out on
me. Say, I can read you just like a mail order catalogue. If you
don't come clean you're through your pay check's waiting for you
right now."
"I kin always git another job," parried Luk~, lamely.
"Sure you can; but that isn't the question, Luke," replied the
girl, sadly.
"I know it ain't, Miss," and Luke dug a toe into the loose earth
beneath the cottonwood tree. "I did see somethin' onusual today,"
he blurted suddenly.
"I thought so. What was it?"
"An Apache — Shoz-Dijiji."
Wichita Billings' eyes went wide. Involuntarily her hand went to
her breast, and she caught her breath in a little gasp before she
spoke.
"You shot him?" The words were a barely audible whisper. "You
shot him for the reward?"
"I shore did not," snapped Luke. "Look here, Miss, you kin have
my job any time you want it, but you nor no one else kin make me
double cross a hombre what saved my life — I don't give a damn who
he killed — I beg yore pardon, Miss — and anyway I haint never
belieyed he did kill your paw."
In his righteous indignation Luke Jensen had failed to note what
appeared to be the relaxation of vast relief that claimed Wichita
Billings the instant that he announced that he had not shot
Shoz-Dijiji. Could it be that Wichita, too, had her doubts?
"Did you ask him about the killing? Demanded the girl.
"Yep."
"What did he say? Did he deny it?"
"Well, I wouldn't say he did and I wouldn't say he didn't."
"Just what did he say?"
"He said that ef you was offerin' a thousand dollars fer him
dead you must be plumb shore he done it."
"How did he know about the reward?"
"I told him."
"You told him?"
"Shore I did. I don't think he done it. Ef I hadn't told him he
was a comin' here an' some of the fellers would have plugged him
shore. You ain't mad, are you?"
"You are very sure he didn't kill Dad, aren't you, Luke?"
"Yep, plumb certain."
"But he didn't deny it, did he?"
"No, an' he didn't admit it, neither."
"There may be some doubt, Luke. I'm going to draw down that
offer, because I can't take the chance of being mistaken; but as
long as I live I shall believe in my heart that Shoz-Dijiji killed
my father. If you ever see him again, tell him that the reward has
been called off; and tell him, too, that if ever I see him I'll
kill him, just like I think he killed my Dad; but I can't ask
anyone else to. Send 'Smooth' here when you go back to the bunk
house."
As Luke was walking away the girl called to him.
"Wait a minute, Luke, there is something else," she said. "I
have just been thinking," she continued, when the youth was near
her again, "that the Indian you saw today might have had something
to do with the cattle stealing. Had you thought of that?"
Luke scratched his head. "No, ma'am, I hedn't thought of that;
but now that you mention it I reckon as how it ain't at all
unlikely. I never seen one yet that wouldn't steal."
"I guess we're on the right trail now, Luke," said the girl.
"Don't say anything to anyone about seeing him. Just keep your eyes
open, and let me know the minute you see anything out of the
way."
" All right, Miss, I'll keep a right smart look out," and Jensen
turned and walked toward the bunk house.
As Wichita waited for her foreman her thoughts were overcast by
clouds of sorrow and regret. The animosities that were directed
upon Shoz-Dijiji were colored by the shame she felt for having
permitted her heart to surrender itself to an Indian. That she had
never openly admitted the love that she had once harbored for a
savage did not reconcile her, nor did the fact that she had
definitely and permanently uprooted the last vestige of this love
and nurtured hatred in its stead completely clear her
conscience.
It angered her that even while she vehemently voiced her belief
that Shoz-Dijiji had killed her father she still had doubts that
refused to die. She was bitter in the knowledge that though she had
suggested that he was stealing her cattle, deep in her heart she
could not bring herself to believe it of him.
Her somber reveries were interrupted by the approach of
Kreff.
"There are a couple of things I wanted to speak to you about,
'Smooth,'" said the girl.
"Fire away, Chita," said the man, with easy familiarity.
"In the first place I want you to pass the word around that the
reward for bringing in that Apache is off."
"Why?" demanded the man.
"That's my business," replied the girl, shortly. The words and
her tone reminded Kreff of the dead Boss — she was her father
allover — and he said no more.
"The other thing is this report about cattle stealing," she
continued.
"Who said there was any cattle stealin' goin' on?" he asked.
"Luke has missed a few head off the east range."
"Oh, that kid's loco," said Kreff. "They've drifted, an' he's
too plumb lazy to hunt 'em up."
"'Kansas' has missed some, too, from up around the Little Mesa
on the north range," she insisted. "I don't know so much about
Luke, he hasn't been with us so long; but 'Kansas' is an old hand —
he's not the kind to do much guessing."
"I'll look into it, Chita," said Kreff, "an' don't you worry
your little head no more about it." There was something in his tone
that made her glance up quickly, knitting her brows. His voice was
low and soothing and protective. It didn't sound like "Smooth"
Kreff in spite of his nickname, which, she happened to know, was
indicative of the frictionless technique with which he separated
other men from their belongings in the application of the art of
draw and stud.
"You hadn't ought to hev nothin' to worry you," he continued.
"This here business is a man's job. It ain't right an' fittin' thet
a girl should hev to bother with sech things."
"Well, that's what I've got you and the other boys for,
'Smooth.'"
"Yes, but hired hands ain't the same. You ought to be married —
to a good cow man," he added.
"Meaning?" she inquired.
"Me."
"Are you proposing to me, 'Smooth'?"
"I shore am. What do you say? You an' me could run this outfit
together fine, an' you wouldn't never hev to worry no more about
nothin'."
"But I don't love you, 'Smooth.'"
"Oh, shucks, that aint nothin'. They's a heap o' women marry men
they don't love. They git to lovin' 'em afterwards, though."
"But you don't love me."
"I shore do, Chita. I've allus loved you."
"Well, you've managed to hide it first rate," she observed.
"They didn't never seem no chance, 'til now," he explained; "but
you got a lot o' horse sense, an' I reckon you kin see as well as
me thet it would be the sensible thing to do. You cain't marry
nothin' but a cow man, an' they ain't no other cow man thet I knows
of thet would be much of a improvement over me. You'll larn to love
me, all right. I aint so plumb ugly, an' I won't never beat you
up."
Wichita laughed. "You're sure tootin', 'Smooth,'" she said.
"There isn't a man on earth that's ever going to try to beat me up,
more than once."
Kreff grinned. "You don't hev to tell me that, Chita," he said.
"I reckon that's one o' the reasons I'm so strong fer you — you
shore would make one grand woman fer a man in this country."
"Well, 'Smooth,' as a business proposition there is something in
what you say that it won't do any harm to think about, but as a
proposal of marriage it hasn't got any more bite to it than a white
pine dog with a poplar tail."
"But you'll think it over, Chita?" he asked, drawing a sack of
Durham and a package of brown papers from his shirt pocket.
"You dropped something, 'Smooth,'" she said; gesturing toward
the ground at his feet. "You pulled it out of your pocket with the
makings."
He looked down at a bit of paste board, at one half of a playing
card that had been torn in two — one half of the jack of
spades.
- Writer
