When morning came he returned to the camp of the renegades; and there he found his people, sullen and morose, preparing to lay down their weapons and give themselves up as prisoners of war to the enemy that they feared, hated, and mistrusted. He went to the pony herd and caught Nejeunee and brought him back to camp. Then he squatted beside a rock, and with a bronze forefinger laid the war paint of the Apache Devil across his face. Upon his head he placed his war bonnet of buckskin with its crest of feathers; about his neck he hung a single strand of turquoise and silver beads; in his ears were small silver rings, and covering his feet and legs were stout Apache war moccasins. A belt of ammunition encircled his slim waist, and from it hung two pistols and a great butcher knife. He carried a rifle and bow and arrows. The others saw his preparations, but they made no comment. When he was done he mounted Nejeunee—an Apache war chief tricked out in all the panoply of the war trail. He rode to where Geronimo sat stolidly upon a pony waiting for the preparations for departure to be completed. The old war chief looked up as the younger man approached, but the expression upon his inscrutable face did not change as he saw the war paint and the weapons. “My father,” said Shoz-Dijiji, “all night I have prayed in the high places, prayed to Usen and to Intchi-Dijin, asking them to give me some sign if they wished me to give myself up to the enemy and go into bondage with Geronimo and our people. But they gave me no sign, and so I know that they do not wish me to do these things; and I am satisfied. “Therefore I ride out alone, the last of the Apaches, upon the war trail against the enemies of my people. While I live I shall devote my life to killing the pindah-lickoyee. I, Shoz-Dijiji, war chief of the Be-don-ko-he, have spoken.” “Wait,” said Geronimo. “Wait until you have heard the words of Geronimo before you bind yourself to such an oath. “We go into bondage. We shall never take the war trail again. Had it been otherwise I should never have told you what I am going to tell you now. “All your life you have been as a son to me. I have loved you. I have been proud of you. It is because I love you, Shoz-Dijiji, that I am going to tell you this thing now. When I have told you you will know that you need not throw away your life fighting the pindah-lickoyee, fighting the battles of the Apaches. “Shoz-Dijiji, you are not an Apache. You are not a Shis-Inday. You are a pindah-lickoyee.” The eyes of the Apache Devil narrowed. “You are my father,” he said, “but not even you may call Shoz-Dijiji a pindah-lickoyee and live. That, Juh learned.” Geronimo shook his head sadly. “Juh knew,” he said. “He was with me when we killed your father and mother in a pass in the Stein’s Peak Range. It was Juh who dragged you from the wagon and would have killed you but for Geronimo.” “It is a lie!” growled Shoz-Dijiji.