For a while they rode in silence, the Apache constantly on the alert against another and more dangerous surprise, the girl thoughtful, her face reflecting the cast of sadness in which her thoughts were molded. Wichita Billings knew that the man at her side loved her. She knew that she was drawn to him more than to any other man that she had ever known, but she did not know that this attraction constituted love. Raised as she had been in an atmosphere of racial hatred, schooled in ignorance and bigotry by people who looked upon every race and nation, other than their own race and nation, as inferior, she could scarce believe it possible that she could give her love to an Indian; and so her mind argued against her heart that it was not love that she felt for him but some other emotion which should be suppressed. Shoz-Dijiji, on his part, realized the barrier that prejudice had erected between them and the difficulty that the white girl might have to surmount it in the event that she loved him. He, too, had faced a similar barrier in his hatred of the white race; but that his love had long since leveled. A greater obstacle, one which he could not again face, was the hurt that his pride had suffered when she had recoiled from his embrace. Thoughts such as these kept them silent for some time until Wichita chanced to recall Nejeunee. “Shoz-Dijiji,” she exclaimed, “where is your pinto war pony?” The Apache shrugged. “Who knows?” “What became of him? Is he dead, or did you lose him in battle?” “We were starving,” said the Apache. “We had eaten all the ponies except Nejeunee. It was in Sonora. Your soldiers were pressing us on one side, the Mexicans upon the other. At night I led Nejeunee close to the picket line of the white-eyed soldiers. I have not seen him since.” “You were very fond of Nejeunee, Shoz-Dijiji.” “In Apache Nejeunee means friend,” said the man. “One by one all of my friends are being taken from me. Nejeunee was just one more. Usen has forgotten Shoz-Dijiji.” “Perhaps not,” replied Wichita. “What would you say if I told you that Nejeunee is alive and that I know where he is?” “I should say that after all Usen has at last been good to me in giving me you as a friend. Tell me where he is.” “He’s on our ranch—in the back pasture.” “On your ranch? How did Nejeunee get there?” “You left him near the picket line of Lieutenant King’s troop, and when they got back across the border he sent him up to me.” “King did not tell me.” “You have seen the lieutenant?” “We met in Chihuahua,” said Shoz-Dijiji. “And you talked with him?” “Yes.” “But you were on the war path, and he was after you. How could you have met and talked?” “King and Shoz-Dijiji went into the cattle business together.” “What do you mean?” demanded Wichita. “When you see King ask him. He will tell you.” “Were you two alone together?” “Yes, for a day and a night.” “And you did not kill him?” “No. Shoz-Dijiji does not kill anyone that you love.”