“Hold yourself in readiness to march at daylight, Cullis, with all the available men of your troop. Proceed by the most direct route to Apache Pass and try to pick up the trail. Bring Geronimo back, alive if you can. If he resists, kill him. “Crawford, I shall have you relieved immediately. You also will march at dawn. Go directly south. You will each send out detachments to the east and west. Keep in touch with one another. Whatever else you do, bring back Geronimo!” He swung back toward Shoz-Dijiji. “Crawford, give this man some tobacco for bringing me this information, and see that he is passed through the sentries and sent back to his camp. Tell him that Geronimo had no business leaving the reservation and that he will have to come back, but do not let him suspect that we are sending troops after him.” The corporal of the guard escorted Shoz-Dijiji through the line of sentries, and as they were about to part the Apache handed the soldier the sack of tobacco that Captain Crawford had given him. “You’re not such a bad Indian, at that,” commented the corporal; “but,” he added, scratching his head, “I’d like to know how in hell you got into the post in the first place.” “Me no sabe,” said Shoz-Dijiji. Mrs. Cullis arose early the following morning and went directly to Wichita’s room, where she found her guest already dressed in flannel shirt, buckskin skirt, and high heeled boots, ready for her long ride back to the Billings’ ranch. “I thought I’d catch you before you got dressed,” said the older woman. “Why?” “You can’t go today. Geronimo has gone out again. ‘B’ Troop and Captain Crawford’s scouts have started after him already. Both Captain Cullis and Mister King have gone out with ‘B’ Troop; but even if there were anyone to go with you, it won’t be safe until they have Geronimo back on the reservation again.” “How many went out with him?” asked the girl. “Only his wife and children. The Indians say he has not gone on the war path, but I wouldn’t take any chances with the bloodthirsty old scoundrel.” “I’m not afraid,” said Wichita. “As long as it’s only Geronimo I’m in no danger even if I meet him, which I won’t. You know we are old friends.” “Yes, I know all about that; but I know you can’t trust an Apache.” “I trust them,” said Wichita. She stooped and buckled on her spurs. “You don’t mean that you are going anyway!” “Why of course I am.” Margaret Cullis shook her head. “What am I to do?” she demanded helplessly. “Give me a cup of coffee before I leave,” suggested Wichita. The business at the Hog Ranch had been good that night. Two miners and a couple of cattlemen, all well staked, had dropped in early in the evening for a couple of drinks and a few rounds of stud. They were still there at daylight, but they were no longer well staked. “Dirty” Cheetim and three or four of his cronies had annexed their bank rolls. The four guests were sleeping off the effects of their pleasant evening on the floor of the back room.