COME BACK!
THROUGH that strange medium for the dissemination of information that
is one of the remarkable phenomena of the life of primitive peoples,
word of the activities of the hostiles was carried to the stronghold of
Geronimo.
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?”
“Shoz-Dijiji does not want to kill everyone,” replied the brave.
“Shoz-Dijiji does not want to kill you. If Shoz-Dijiji put away his
weapons, no hunt, no fight; what for he live? Be reservation Indian?”
There was a wealth of unveiled contempt in his voice. “Let agent cheat
him, starve him? Let white man laugh at him, make fun of him? No!”
“But they would help you, Shoz-Dijiji. I would help you.”
“Yes, you would help me; but you would always feel sorry for me because
I am an Indian. I do not want the help of the white-eyes. I do not think
that they would help me. Have they ever helped the Indian? What can they
give the Indian that Usen has not already given him? Only, they take
away what Usen has given.
“What has the pindah lickoyee better than the Shis-Inday? Is he braver?
Is he more honest? Can he teach the Indian how and where to find food
and clothing? No, the pindah lickoyee would starve where the Indian
grows fat. He would go naked where the Indian finds more clothing than
he needs. Has he more sense? He has none. See what he has done to this
country.
“Before he came there was plenty for all, but like a fool he set out to
kill every living thing that Usen had put here. He robs the Indian of
his food, but also he robs himself of food—food that cost only a little
effort to obtain—food that, hunted as the Indian knows how to hunt,
always increased in numbers.
“What has he done for us? He is trying to take away from us the ways of
our fathers—our dances, our medicine men, everything that we hold
sacred; and in return he gives us whiskey and shoots us wherever he
finds us. I do not think the pindah lickoyee are such good men that they
can tell the Indian how to be good.
“Around every post and agency the white men are always trying to ravish
our women. The women of the Apache are good women. When they are not we
cut off their noses. How many Apache women have you ever seen whose
noses had been cut off? Do you think we want to come and live beside
such men? Do you think there is anything that they can teach us that is
better than our fathers taught us?
“You think it is bad to kill. Yes, it is bad to kill; but it is better
to kill like men and braves, openly and upon the war trail, than to kill
by lies. Our people are told great lies to get them to come into the
reservations, and there they are starved; and if they leave the
reservation to hunt for food for their women and children, without a
pass from the agent who is robbing them, then the soldiers come and
shoot them.
“No, Shoz-Dijiji never be reservation Indian!”
“I am sorry,” she said. “I never thought of it from your side. I can see
that in some ways you are right; but in others you are wrong. All white
men are not bad.”
“All Indians are not bad,” he replied quickly, “but the pindah lickoyee
treat them all alike—bad.”
For some time they sat in silence, the Apache watching the girl’s face,
his own expressionless. What was passing behind that granitic mask? Once
he extended a hand toward her as though to touch her, then he drew it
back quickly and sprang to his feet.
“Come!” he said, almost roughly. “We go back to camp.”
Two days later Geronimo and Shoz-Dijiji thought that it would be safe to
return Wichita to her home, and the young war chief and the girl set out
upon the long journey, which was but a repetition of that which had
ended at the camp of the Be-don-ko-he.
During the journey Wichita could not but notice that the brave scarcely
let his eyes leave her face, a thing of which she had had a growing
consciousness for at least two days before they left the camp. Had she
not come to trust him so implicitly she would have found it difficult
not to have acknowledged something of nervous apprehension as she felt
his gaze constantly upon her; but he took no other liberties with
her—just looked at her through those steady, inscrutable eyes.
Every journey must have an end and at last the two stood upon the very
hill above her father’s ranch where they had stood upon another
occasion. Shoz-Dijiji drew rein and dismounted. “I will wait here until
you are safe in the house of your father,” he said.
“You are not coming down with me?” she exclaimed, surprised.
“No.”
“I want you to, Shoz-Dijiji. I want my father to know you, and thank you
for what you have done for me,” she insisted.
“Me no go,” he replied.
The girl became suddenly conscious of a feeling almost of panic. Was she
never to see Shoz-Dijiji again, this good friend, this best of friends?
She realized, and the realization came as a distinct shock, that this
man of another race had suddenly filled a great emptiness in her
life—an emptiness the existence of which she had never before
realized—and that life was going to be very different without him.
Already she felt a great loneliness creeping over her.
She was standing beside him and now she turned and came close, putting
her two palms upon his breast. “Please, Shoz-Dijiji,” she begged.
“Please come down—I do not want you to go away.”
The contact of her hands upon him broke the iron will of the Apache. The
habitual mask behind which he hid his emotions dropped away—it was a
new Shoz-Dijiji into whose face the girl looked. He seized her in his
arms and pressed her close; his lips covering hers.
She struck at his great chest and sought to push him away; she held her
head from him and he saw the horror in her eyes. Then it was that he
released her.
“Shoz-Dijiji sorry,” he said. “For days he fight the great fire burning
in his brain, burning up his heart, Shoz-Dijiji thought he was strong;
he did not know how much stronger is love—until you touched him. But
you are right. You are white—Shoz-Dijiji is Apache. White girl could
not love Apache. That is right.” He vaulted to the back of Nejeunee.
“Shoz-Dijiji sorry. Good-bye!”
She watched him ride away and the panic and the loneliness gripped her
like fingers of flesh and blood that sought to choke life and love and
happiness from her. She saw him disappear beyond a hill to the south and
she took a step after him, her hands outstretched in dumb pleading for
his return that her lips had not the courage to voice aloud. She stood
thus for a minute and then her arms dropped limply to her side and she
turned back toward her father’s house.
A few steps she took and then she wheeled suddenly about and extended
her arms again, in supplication.
“Shoz-Dijiji!” she cried, “Shoz-Dijiji, come back!”
But Shoz-Dijiji, war chief of the Be-don-ko-he, did not hear.
THE END
GLOSSARY
Cha-ja-la Spirit dance
Chidin-bi-kungua House of spirits
Chigo-na-ay Sun
Duklij (blue stone) Turquoise
Es-a-da-ded Buckskin on a hoop—Primitive drum
Gun-ju-le Be good
Ink-tah Sit down
Intchi-dijin The black wind
Ish-kay-nay Boy
Ittindi Lightning
Itza-chu Eagle
Izze-nantan Medicine man
Ka-chu Jack rabbit
Kah Arrow
Kah Foot
Klego-na-ay Full moon
Klij-litzogue Yellow bear
Kunh-gan-hay (fire place) Camp
Nejeunee Friendly
Pesh-litzogue (yellow iron) Gold
Pindah-lickoyee White eyes
Shee-dah Myself
Shis-Inday (men of the woods) The Apaches’ name for themselves
Shoz-dijiji Black bear
Shoz-lekay White bear
Shoz-litzogue Yellow bear
Tapida Dawn
Tats-an Dead
Tsoch Cradle
Tzi-daltai Amulet
Tzi-ditindi (sounding wood) Rhombus or bull roarer
Usen God
Yah-ik-tee He is not present (said of a dead friend)
Yah-tats-an Now it is dead (said of a killed animal)
Yandestan Sky
TRANSCRIBER NOTES
Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected. Where multiple
spellings occur, majority use has been employed.
Punctuation has been maintained except where obvious printer errors
occur.
A cover was created for this eBook and is placed in the public domain.