“Even a coyote will fight for his life,” soliloquized the Apache Devil; but he did not feel like a coyote. Once more he was an Apache war chief riding naked upon the war trail against the hated pindah-lickoyee; and just as he rode from the sight of the white men he could not restrain a single, exultant Apache war whoop. Into the ranch yard thundered Kreff and his companions. They saw Luke trying to drag himself to his feet and stagger toward him. “You lop-eared idiots!” he yelled. “Wot in Hell you shootin’ at him fer? He’s ridin’ after the fellers that stole Chita.” “Stole Chita?” cried Kreff. “By God, I was right! Cheetim!” “I didn’t see Cheetim,” said Luke. “Whoever it was rid south into the hills. Git the hell out of here and git after them, an’ ef you see that Apache leave him be—he’s the best friend Wichita Billings’s got.” “Chung, you git Luke into the bunk house an’ take keer o’ him ’til we gets back,” Kreff called over his shoulder as the three spurred away again, this time following the trail taken by Shoz-Dijiji. Plain before the trained eyes of Shoz-Dijiji lay the spoor of his quarry. Swiftly he rode. The errand, the speed of his fleet pony, his own nakedness stirred every savage instinct within him. He had never expected to live again; but this, O, Usen, was life! He dipped into the pouch at his side and drew out a little silver box that he had never expected to use again, and dipping into it with a forefinger he banded his face with the blue and white war paint of the Apache Devil. He could not lay the colors on carefully at the speed Nejeunee was carrying him; but he wore them, as a ship of war runs up its battle flag as it goes into action. * * * * * As Cheetim left them and entered the rear room of the shack, the men in the front room nudged one another, chuckled, and took a drink. They were wiping their mouths with the backs of their hands when the outer door swung open, and a painted warrior stepped into the room. Luis Mariel, who was standing in a corner, looked wide eyed at the newcomer. The other men reached for their six-shooters. “The Apache Devil!” cried Luis. Shoz-Dijiji looked quickly at him. “Lie down!” he said to him in Spanish. Already he had commenced to shoot. He asked no questions. A man fell. In the back room Cheetim and Wichita heard the dread name as Luis cried it aloud. Cheetim had just entered and closed the door behind him. He was approaching Wichita as Luis spoke the name of the scourge of three states. At the first shot Cheetim crossed the room at a bound and leaped from the window. A half dozen shots followed in quick succession. Four men lay dead in the outer room when Shoz-Dijiji sprang to the door of the smaller room and swung it open, just in time to see Cheetim mounting a horse in the rear of the building. He recognized him instantly; then he turned toward the girl. “You hurt?” he demanded. “No. Oh, Shoz-Dijiji, thank God, you came!”