“No, I do not hate you. I love you,” he said simply. “You must not say that, Shoz-Dijiji,” she answered, sadly. “If Shoz-Dijiji was a white-eyed man, you would listen,” he said. She was silent. “Tell me,” he demanded, “is that not true?” “Oh, God! I don’t know, I don’t know,” she cried. “Shoz-Dijiji knows,” said the Be-don-ko-he. “Good-bye!” He wheeled his pony and rode away. The sun was setting as Wichita Billings dismounted wearily at the corral back of the ranch house. Luke Jensen came from the bunk house to take her pony. “Where’s Dad?” she asked. “One of the boys found a beef killed this mornin’. He said it looked like Injuns hed done it. Yore Dad rid over to hev a look at it. He ought to be back right smart soon now.” Luke glanced over across the back pasture toward the east. Wichita knitted her brows. “Did he go that way?” she asked. “Alone?” “Yep,” assented Luke. “Get one of the other boys to go with you, and ride out and meet him. If Apaches killed the beef there may be some of them around.” Wichita turned toward the ranch house, hesitated, and then walked back to Luke. “Luke,” she said, “you don’t hate all Indians do you?” “You know I don’t, Miss. I’d a bin dead now ef it hedn’t a-bin fer one of ’em. Why?” “Well, if you ever meet an Apache, Luke, remember that, and don’t shoot until you’re plumb sure he’s hostile.” Jensen scratched his head. “Yes, Miss,” he said, “but what’s the idee?” “There may be friendly Indians around, and if you should shoot one of them,” she explained, “the rest might turn hostile.” As Wichita walked toward the house Luke stood looking after her. “I don’t reckon she’s gone loco,” he soliloquized, “but she shore better watch herself.” It was ten o’clock before Luke Jensen returned to the ranch. He went immediately to the house and knocked on the door, entering at Wichita’s invitation. “Your Dad back?” he demanded. “No. Didn’t you see anything of him?” “Nary hide nor hair.” “Where do you suppose he can be?” “I dunno. They’s Indians around, though. I bumped plumb into one tother side of the willows in the draw outside the fer pasture gate, an’ who do you reckon it was? Why none other than that Shoz-Dijiji fellow what give me a lift that time. He must-a thought some o’ the hosses in the pasture were comin’ through them willows, fer he never tried to hide hisself at all. I jest rid plumb on top o’ him. He knew me, too. I couldn’t help but think o’ wot you told me just before I left about bein’ sure not to shoot up any friendly. Say, did you know he was around?” “How could I know that?” demanded Wichita. “I dunno,” admitted Luke, scratching his head; “but it did seem dern funny to me.” “It’s funny the man with you didn’t take a shot at him,” commented Wichita. “Most all of the boys believe in shooting an Apache first and inquiring about his past later.”