The Be-don-ko-he knew of the attack upon San Carlos Agency which resulted in the killing of Sterling, chief of Indian Scouts, and several other whites; knew that Chief Loco, successor to the dead Victorio, had joined the hostiles with all his Chi-hen-ne, men, women and children, and that the whole band was heading south toward Mexico. They had news of the fight in Horse Shoe Canyon, and learned of the killing of Yuma Bill and three Yuma scouts and three soldiers in that fight; followed the flight of the hostiles along the rough crest of Stein’s Peak Range, down into the San Simon Valley, and from there into the Chiricahua Mountains; knew that they had scattered there, only to meet at another point; saw them safely all the way through Whitewater Canyon, across the mountains, down Animas Valley toward Guadalupe Pass, and near there across into Mexico. Shoz-Dijiji kept Wichita posted on all that transpired, but he would not start back with her toward her home until he was sure that the last of the hostiles was out of the country, for they had scattered twice and he was not sure that all had crossed the border. Too, there was the danger from the troops, but that was secondary because it menaced only himself. She tried to tell him that he would be safe from the soldiers as long as he was with her, for when she had told them that he had rescued her from the hostiles they would not only be friendly but would reward him, but he shook his head. “They kill Shoz-Dijiji first; ask you about him after,” he said. They were sitting beneath the shade of a tree upon the shoulder of the mountain, over-looking the camp of the Be-don-ko-he. In the distance they could see the wide plain stretching to other mountains. The girl had noticed that Shoz-Dijiji always seemed to be where he could see to a great distance when he rested—or rather idled, for he never seemed to be in the need of rest. Sometimes he scanned the horizon through a pair of field glasses. Finally he touched the glasses to call her attention to them. “You know who belong these?” he asked. She shook her head. “Your lover,” he said, laughing. “My lover!” she exclaimed. “What do you mean? I have no lover.” He looked at her intently for a moment. “You no love King?” he asked. It was her turn to laugh. “He is only a friend,” she said. “Are those his glasses?” “You no love him?” he insisted. “Of course not.” “Shoz-Dijiji know that, he kill him that time,” he said, quite simply. Impulsively she laid a hand upon his arm. “Oh, Shoz-Dijiji,” she cried, “why do you want to kill every one? You are such a good man. Why don’t you put away your weapons and come in to the reservation?”