After he had resumed his seat there was silence around the council fire for several minutes. Then Geronimo arose. In his heart was murder, but in his cruel features, schooled to obey his will, there was no hint of it. “Juh, Chief of the Ned-ni, knows that a single voice raised against Shoz-Dijiji now will prevent him from being admitted to the warrior class until he has undergone another trial upon the war trail. Geronimo knows that the words of Juh are not prompted by loyalty to the Shis-Inday as much as they are by hatred of Shoz-Dijiji. This is not the act of a brave warrior or a great chief. Such things bring strife among the Shis-Inday. Does Juh wish to change his words before it is too late?” The chief of the Ned-ni sprang to his feet. “Juh has spoken,” he cried. “Juh does not change his words. Let Shoz-Dijiji change his ways to the ways of a warrior and Juh will, perhaps, speak differently at another council.” “The laws of the Shis-Inday were made by Usen,” said Geronimo, “and they may not be lightly changed. The words have been spoken and not recalled. Shoz-Dijiji must go again upon the war trail and prove himself once again fit to become a warrior. I, Geronimo, war chief of the Apaches say these words.” He sat down. However keen the disappointment of Shoz-Dijiji when he was told of the action of the council, he received the information with the stolid indifference of an Indian, though within his breast the fires of his hatred for Juh burned with renewed fury. Ish-kay-nay, understanding, spoke words of praise and comfort, and Gian-nah-tah applied vile, obscene Apache epithets to the great chief Juh—when he was sure that no Ned-ni might overhear him. Ish-kay-nay had a suggestion to make. “Upon the next raid, Shoz-Dijiji,” she advised, “do not kill. Torture the living, mutilate the dead. Show them that your heart is strong.” “Never!” exclaimed Shoz-Dijiji. “If for no other reason, because Juh wishes me to, I will not do it.” “Why do you not torture?” asked Ish-kay-nay. “You are brave—everyone knows that—so it cannot be that you are afraid.” “I see no sense in it,” replied the young brave. “It gives me no pleasure.” He paused. “Ish-kay-nay, I cannot explain why it is and I have never told any one before, but when I see warriors torturing the helpless wounded and the defenseless prisoner, mutilating dead men who have fought bravely, something comes into my heart which is not pride of my people. I am ashamed, Ish-kay-nay, of even my own father, Geronimo. “I do not know why. I only know that I speak true words without understanding them. I know that I am no coward; but I should not be so sure of that had I plunged a red-hot king bolt into a screaming white woman, as I have seen Juh do, and laughed at her agonies of death.” “If you feel pity for the enemy you are weak,” said Ish-kay-nay, sternly.