“At the kunh-gan-hay beside the soldiers of Nan-tan-des-la-par-en,” commenced Gian-nah-tah, presently, “the poisoned water of the pindah-lickoyee spoke through the mouth of Gian-nah-tah, saying words that Gian-nah-tah would not have said.” He stopped, waiting. “Shoz-Dijiji knew that Gian-nah-tah, his best friend, did not speak those words,” replied Shoz-Dijiji. “It was the bad spirits that the white man puts into his strong water to make trouble between men. Gian-nah-tah is a fool to be tricked thus by the pindah-lickoyee.” “Yes,” agreed Gian-nah-tah, “I am a fool.” Shoz-Dijiji scratched some criss-cross lines upon the ground where he squatted. With a bit of stick he scratched them. “These,” he said, “are the troubles that have come between Shoz-Dijiji and Gian-nah-tah—the bad talk—the bad thoughts.” With his palm he smoothed the ground. “Now they are gone,” he said. “Let us forget them.” He offered Gian-nah-tah a piece of venison, and his friend squatted beside him. “Do you think the soldiers of the white-eyed men will follow us?” asked Gian-nah-tah. Shoz-Dijiji shook his head. “I do not know,” he replied. “I offered hoddentin to the winds and to the night, and I prayed that Usen would make the hearts of the pindah-lickoyee good that they might return to their own country and leave us in peace. “I asked the tzi-daltai that Nan-ta-do-tash blessed for me if the white-eyed soldiers were pursuing us, but I have received no answer.” “Nan-tan-des-la-par-en said that if we did not come with him he would follow us and kill us all if it took fifty years,” reminded Gian-nah-tah. Shoz-Dijiji laughed. “That is just talk,” he said. “Anyone can make big talk. For over three hundred years we have been fighting the pindah-lickoyee; and they have not killed us all, yet. Some day they will, but it will take more than fifty years. You and I shall have plenty of fighting before the last of the Shis-Inday is killed.” “I do not know,” said Gian-nah-tah. “A spirit came to me while I slept the first night that we camped near the soldiers of Nan-tan-des-la-par-en. It was the spirit of my father. He said that he had waited a long time for me. He said that pretty soon I would come. I asked him when; but just then I awoke, and that frightened him away. Perhaps it will be tomorrow—who knows?” “Do not say that, Gian-nah-tah,” said Shoz-Dijiji. “Already have I seen too many of my friends go. One hundred and thirty-four we were when we went out from San Carlos less than twelve moons ago. Today we are thirty eight. The others are dead, or prisoners of the pindah-lickoyee. The heart of Shoz-Dijiji is sad, as are the hearts of all Apaches. The hand of every man is against us—even the hands of our brothers. We must not think of death. Gian-nah-tah and Shoz-Dijiji must live for one another. Surely Usen will not take everything that we love from us!” “Usen has forgotten the Apache,” said Gian-nah-tah, sadly.