They were approaching the Billings ranch now. In a few minutes Wichita would be home. She knew what Shoz-Dijiji would do. He would turn and ride away without a word. Battling with her pride, which was doubly strong because it was composed of both the pride of the white and the pride of the woman, she gave in at last and spoke to him again. “Can you forgive me, Shoz-Dijiji?” she asked. “It was my ugly temper that did it, not my heart.” “You only think that,” he said, presently. “The thing that is deep down in your heart, deep in the heart of every white, came out when you lost control of yourself through anger. If Shoz-Dijiji had been white you would not have struck him!” “Oh, Shoz-Dijiji, how can you say such a thing?” she cried. “There is no white man in the world that I respect more than I do you.” “That is a lie,” said the Apache, quite simply. “It is not possible for a white-eyes to respect an Apache. Sometimes they think they do, perhaps, but let something happen to make them lose their tempers and the truth rises sure and straight, like a smoke signal after a storm.” “I do not lie to you—you should not say such a thing to me,” the girl reproached. “You lie to yourself, not to me; for you only try to deceive yourself. In that, perhaps, you succeed; but you do not deceive me. Shoz-Dijiji knows—you tell him yourself, though you do not mean to. Shoz-Dijiji will finish the words you started when you struck him with your quirt, and then you will understand what Shoz-Dijiji understands: ‘Let go of my bridle, you—’ dirty Siwash!” Wichita gasped. “Oh, I didn’t say that!” she cried. “It was in your heart. The Apache knows.” There was no rancor in his voice. “Oh, Shoz-Dijiji, I _couldn’t_ say that to you—I couldn’t mean it. Can’t you see that I couldn’t?” They had reached the ranch gate and stopped. “Listen,” said the Apache. “Shoz-Dijiji saw the look in the white girl’s eyes when he kissed her. Shoz-Dijiji has seen that look in the eyes of white women when a snake touched them. Shoz-Dijiji understands.” “You do not understand!” cried the girl. “God! you do not understand anything.” “Shoz-Dijiji understands that white girl is for white man—Apache for Apache. If not, you would not have looked that way when Shoz-Dijiji took you in his arms. Cheetim wanted you. He is a white man.” There was a trace of bitterness in his tone. “Why did not you go with him? He is no Apache to bring the snake-look to your eyes.” The girl was about to reply when they were interrupted by the sound of a gruff voice and looking up saw Billings striding angrily toward them. “Get in here, Chita!” he ordered, roughly, and then turned to Shoz-Dijiji. “What the hell do you want?” he demanded. “Father!” exclaimed the girl. “This is my friend. You have no right——” “No dirty, sneaking, murdering Siwash can hang around my ranch,” shouted Billings angrily. “Now get the hell out of here and stay out!”