“Hungry, too?” “Apache always hungry,” laughed the brave. “You wait here,” she told him. “Where your horse?” he demanded. She raised her palms to the level of her shoulders and shrugged. “The old son-of-a-gun pitched me clean off,” she said. “That’s why I was a-sittin’ up here restin’. I been walking close to an hour and I’m dog-tired; but it’s only a short jag to the house now. I may have to sneak out with a horse for you, so don’t get worried if I ain’t back before dark.” She started away. “I go with you,” said Shoz-Dijiji. “Oh, no! The soldiers might see you.” “I go a little way—where I can watch you. Mebbyso bad men around; mebbyso hostiles. Shoz-Dijiji go little way and watch.” Through the hills he went with her, walking ahead as a brave should, until they came within sight of the ranch house. Some cavalry mounts were tied to a corral fence; troopers were lolling in the shade of the bunk house swapping lies with the cowhands. An officer leaned in a back-tilted chair beside the doorway of the ranch house talking with Billings. Only Shoz-Dijiji’s eyes and forehead showed above the top of the last hill above the wagon road where it entered the little flat in which stood the main ranch buildings, and they were screened from view by a small bush. “Go,” he said to the girl. “You will be safe now.” “Where will you wait?” she asked. “Here?” “Yes.” She hesitated, her brow puckered in thought. “If I bring you a horse you will return at once to your tribe?” she demanded. “Yes.” “If you meet any lone whites on the way will you promise me that you will not kill them?” “Why?” “I cannot bring you a horse to use in murdering my own people,” she said. He nodded. “Me savvy. Shoz-Dijiji no kill until he find his people. If they on war trail Shoz-Dijiji fight with them. Shoz-Dijiji a war chief. White warriors kill. Apache warriors kill. That is right.” “But you must not kill white people at all.” “All right—you go tell white warriors they must not kill Apaches. They stop, Shoz-Dijiji stop. Now you go get pony for Shoz-Dijiji. Big talk no good now—no can eat—no can ride. Go.” The girl could not but smile as she turned away and rounding the summit of the hill dropped down toward the ranch house in full view of those gathered there. At sight of her they all arose and several started in her direction, her father among them. “Where in all tarnation you been, Chita?” he demanded when they were close enough for speech. “I thought I told you to stay in town until this fracas blowed over.” “Well, it has blowed over, hasn’t it?” she asked. “We heard yesterday that the hostiles was all headed for the border, so I thought I’d come home. I’m sure sick o’ them tin-horns in town.” “Where’s Buckskin? Why in all tarnation you hoofin’ it?” “Pitched me off a mile or so back yender,” she explained. “I was takin’ a short cut through the hills.” “You saw no sign of hostiles, I take it, Miss Billings?” suggested the officer, a young cavalry lieutenant.