The man who had suggested a separate horse for Wichita insisted. “It won’t take two minutes,” he said, “an’ if we are follered we kin make better time than if one of the hosses is packin’ double.” “Hell, then,” exclaimed one of his fellows, “instead of chawin’ the fat let’s git a hoss. Here, you!” he addressed Luis. “Fetch that hoss. Throw a saddle onto him an’ a lead rope.” As Luis hastened to obey, Cheetim, seeing the further delay, became frantic. The horseman was approaching rapidly along the road from the west, and the men in the ranch yard were wasting valuable time. Out on the east range Shoz-Dijiji, having finished his breakfast, mounted Nejeunee and turned the pony’s head toward the east, toward the distant mountains where the Gila rises, toward the ancient stamping grounds of the Be-don-ko-he. He had no plans for the future. He wanted only to get away. He had seen Wichita Billings through his field glasses, and the sight of her had but aggravated the old hurt. Sad and lonely, the war chief rode toward the deserted camp grounds of his vanished people, where now were only brooding memories. Luke Jensen galloped into sight of the ranch. Cheetim, lying behind a boulder at the top of a hill, covered him with his rifle sights and fired. Luke heard the bullet scream past his ear. Forewarned of some danger, he knew not what, he was prepared. He took two flying shots at the puff of smoke at the hill top where his unknown assailant lay, dug the rowels into his pony’s sides, and raced for the ranch gate that he saw was standing open. Cheetim fired once more; but again he missed, and then Luke was inside the yard. Coming toward him from the corrals he saw five men and Wichita, and he knew that something was radically wrong even before one of the men drew his gun and opened fire on him. Unable to return the man’s fire without endangering Wichita, Jensen spurred in the direction of an out-building that would give him shelter until he could get his rifle into action. The five men spurred toward the gate, quirting Wichita’s horse to equal speed. Three of them were firing at Luke; and just as he reached the out-building, just when he was within a second of safety, Wichita saw him lunge from his saddle, hit. Then her captors raced through the gate and into the hills south of the ranch, whirling Wichita Billings away with them. Chapter Eighteen “The Apache Devil!” =O=UT on the east range a horseman reined in his mount and listened as the rapid reports of rifle and pistol came faintly to his ears. There was something amiss at the Crazy B Ranch and Wichita was there, practically alone! Shoz-Dijiji wheeled Nejeunee so suddenly that the little pinto reared almost straight in air and then, at a touch of his master’s heels and a word in his pointed ears, leaped off in the new direction at a swift run.