“Suits me,” agreed Wichita. “How about you, Margaret?” “I want to finish my sewing. You young folks run along and have your walk, and perhaps Captain Cullis will be here when you get back. If he is we’ll have a game of euchre.” “I wish you’d come,” said Wichita. “Yes, do!” begged King, but Mrs. Cullis only smiled and shook her head. “Run along, now,” she cried gaily, “and don’t forget the game.” “We’ll not be gone long,” King assured her. “I wish you’d come with us.” “Sweet boy,” thought Margaret Cullis as the door closed behind them leaving her alone. “Sweet boy, but not very truthful.” As Wichita and King stepped out into the crisp, cool air of an Arizona night the voice of the sentry at the guard house rang out clearly against the silence: “Number One, eight o’clock!” They paused to listen as the next sentry passed the call on: “Number Two, eight o’clock. All’s well!” Around the chain of sentries it went, fainter in the distance, growing again in volume to the final, “All’s well!” of Number One. “I thought you said it was a gorgeous night,” remarked Wichita Billings. “There is no moon, it’s cloudy and dark as a pocket.” “But I still insist that it is gorgeous,” said King, smiling. “All Arizona nights are.” “I don’t like these black ones,” said Wichita; “I’ve lived in Indian country too long. Give me the moon every time.” “They scarcely ever attack at night,” King reminded her. “I know, but there may always be an exception to prove the rule.” “Not much chance that they will attack the post,” said King. “I know that, but the fact remains that a black night always suggests the possibility to me.” “I’ll admit that the sentries do suggest a larger assurance of safety on a night like this,” said King. “We at least know that we shall have a little advance information before any Apache is among us.” Numbers Three and Four were mounted posts, and at the very instant that King was speaking a shadowy form crept between the two sentries as they rode slowly in opposite directions along their posts. It was Shoz-Dijiji. Though the Apache had demonstrated conclusively that Wichita Billings’ intuitive aversion to dark nights might be fully warranted, yet in this particular instance no danger threatened the white inhabitants of the army post, as Shoz-Dijiji’s mission was hostile only in the sense that it was dedicated to espionage. Geronimo had charged him with the duty of ascertaining the attitude of the white officers toward the departure of the War Chief from the reservation, and with this purpose in view the Black Bear had hit upon the bold scheme of entering the post and reporting Geronimo’s departure in person that he might have first hand knowledge of Nan-tan-des-la-par-en’s reaction. He might have come in openly in the light of day without interference, but it pleased him to come as he did as a demonstration of the superiority of Apache cunning and of his contempt for the white man’s laws.