But Gian-nah-tah, Be-don-ko-he warrior, was not thus a coward; and his finer sensibilities were numbed by the effects of the whiskey he had drunk. He did not shrink from Shoz-Dijiji. Instead, he whipped his knife from its scabbard and struck a savage blow at the breast of his best friend.
Shoz-Dijiji had turned away from Cheetim just in time to meet Gian-nah-tah’s attack. Quickly he leaped aside as the knife fell and then sprang close again and seized Gian-nah-tah’s knife wrist with the fingers of his left hand. Like a steel vise his grip tightened. Gian-nah-tah struck at him with his free hand, but Shoz-Dijiji warded the blow.
“Drop it !” commanded the Black Bear and struck Gian-nah-tah across the face with his open palm. The latter struggled to free himself, striking futilely at the giant that held him.
“Drop it!” repeated Shoz-Dijiji. Again he struck Gian-nah-tah — and again, and again. His grasp tightened upon the other’s wrist, stopping the circulation — until Gian-nah-tah thought that his bones were being crushed. His fingers relaxed. The knife clattered to the floor. Shoz-Dijiji stooped quickly and recovered it; then he released his hold upon Gian-nah-tah.
“Go!” commanded the Black Bear, pointing toward the doorway.
For an instant Gian-nah-tah hesitated; then he turned and walked from the room. Without even a glance in the direction of Cheetim, Shoz-Dijiji followed his friend. As they passed the bar the girl called Goldie smiled into the face of Shoz-Dijiji.
“Come down and see me sometime, John,” she said.
Without a word or a look the Apache passed out of the building, away from the refining influences of white man’s civilization.
Sullenly, Gian-nah-tah walked to where two ponies were tied. From the tie-rail he unfastened the hackamore rope of one of them and vaulted to the animal’s back. In silence Shoz-Dijiji handed Gian-nah-tah his knife. In silence the other Apache took it, wheeled his pony, and loped away toward the Be-don-ko-he village. Astride Nejeunee Shoz-Dijiji followed slowly — erect, silent, somber; only his heart was bowed, in sorrow.
As Shoz-Dijiji approached the village he met Geronimo and two warriors riding in the direction of the military post. They were angry and excited. The old War Chief beckoned Shoz-Dijiji to join them.
“What has happened?” asked the Black Bear.
“The soldiers have come and driven away our herd,” replied Geronimo.
“Where are you going?”
“I am going to see Nan-tan-des-la-par-en,” replied Geronimo, “and ask him why the soldiers have stolen our horses and cattle. It is always thus when we would live at peace with the white- eyed men they will not let us. Always they do something that arouses the anger of the Shis-Inday and makes the young braves want to go upon the war trail. Now, if they do not give us back our cattle, it will be difficult to keep the young men in peace upon the reservation — or the old men either.”
At the post Geronimo rode directly to headquarters and demanded to see General Crook, and a few minutes later the four braves were ushered into the presence of the officer.
“I have been expecting you, Geronimo,,’ said Crook.
“Then you knew that the soldiers were going to steal our herds?” demanded the War Chief.
“They have not stolen them, Geronimo,” replied the officer. “It is you who stole them. They do not belong to you. The soldiers have taken them away from you to return them to their rightful owners. Every time you steal horses or cattle they will be taken away from you and returned. You promised me once that you would not steal any more, but yet you went out and killed and stole.”
“We did not go upon the war trail against the white-eyed men,” replied Geronimo. “We were going down into Mexico, and your soldiers attacked us and tried to stop us.”
“It was the Apaches who started the fight at Apache Pass,” Crook reminded him.
“It was the Apaches who fired the first shot,” corrected Geronimo, “but they did not start the fight. You started it by sending troops to stop us. We are neither fools nor children. We knew why those troops were marching to Apache Pass. Had they seen us first they would have fired the first shot. you cannot say that we started the fight just because our chiefs and our warriors are better soldiers than yours. You would have been glad enough to have surprised us, but you were not wise enough.”
Crook smiled. “You say you are not a fool nor a child, Geronimo,” he said. “Well, neither am I. You went out with a bad heart to kill innocent people and rob them. It got too hot for you in Mexico, and so you came back here and brought your stolen herds with you. You are no fool, Geronimo! and so I know you were not foolish enough to think that we would let you keep these cattle. I do not know why you did it, unless you just wanted to make more trouble.”
“I did not want to make trouble,” replied the chief. “We were at war with the Mexicans. We took the horses and cattle as spoils of war. They belong to us. They do not belong to you. They were not taken from your people but from Mexicans. Your own country has been at war with Mexico in the past. Did you return everything that you took from them at that time?”
“But we are not at war with them now. We are friends. You cannot steal from our friends. If we let you they will say that we are not their friends.”
“That IS not true,” replied Geronimo. “The Mexicans are not fools, either. They know the difference between Apaches and white-eyed men. They know that it was the Apaches, with whom they are at war, who took their herds. They do not think that it was you. If you take the herds from us and return them to the Mexicans, both the Mexicans and the Apaches will think that you are fools. If you took them and kept them, that would be different. That is precisely what I, we did and what we would do again. You say that you do not want to be at war with the Apaches — that we are good friends! How then can you make me believe that it is right to take cattle from your friends?” Crook shook his head. “It’s no use, Geronimo,” he said. “How can we live if you take our herds from us?” demanded the Apache. “With these cattle and horses we were rich. We did not intend to kill them. We were going to breed them and thus. become richer, so that we would not have to go out raiding again. It was our chance to live comfortably and in peace with the white-eyed men. Now you have taken this chance from us. We cannot live here and starve.”
“You do not have to starve,” replied Crook. “The government rations are ample to take care of you.”
“We do not get them. You know that we do not get them. The Agent robs us. Every man knows that. Now you rob us. I told you that I wished to live in peace with the white-eyed men, but I cannot control the young men when they learn that you will not return their cattle and horses. If they make trouble do not blame me. I did not do it. You did it. I have spoken!”
“There will be no trouble, Geronimo,” said Crook, “if you do not start it. I cannot give you back the cattle. Go back to your camp and tell your people that. Tell them that the next time they go out and kill and steal I shall not be as easy with them. The next time they will be punished, just as any murderers are. Do you hear?”
“Geronimo hears, but he does not understand,” replied the War Chief. “Usen seems to have made one set of laws for the Apaches and another for the white-eyed men. It is right for the white-eyed men to come into the country of the Apaches and steal their land and kill their game and shut the Apaches up on reservations and shoot them if they try to go to some other part of their own country; but it is wrong for the Apaches to fight with the Mexicans who have been their natural enemies since long before the white-eyed men came to the country. It is wrong for the Apaches to profit by their victories against their enemies.
“Yes, Geronimo hears; but he does not understand.”
3. “NO SABE!”
As Shoz-Dijiji followed Geronimo and the two braves from General Crook’s office, a white girl chanced to be passing in front of head-quarters. Her eyes and the eyes of Shoz-Dijiji met, and into the eyes of the girl leaped the light of recognition and pleasure.
“Shoz-D
ijiji!” she exclaimed. “I am so glad to see you again.” The brave stopped and looked gravely into her face, listening to her words. “I am visiting with Mrs. Cullis. Won’t you come and see me?”
“No sabe,” said Shoz-Dijiji and brushed past her to rejoin his fellows.
A flush of mortification colored the face of Wichita Billings; and the fire of anger and resentment lighted her eyes, but the flush quickly faded and, as quickly, an expression of sorrow supplanted that of displeasure. For a moment she stood looking after the tall, straight form of the Apache as he walked toward his pony; and then, with a sigh, she resumed her way.
A white man, coming from the canteen, had witnessed the meeting between Shoz-Dijiji and Wichita Billings. He had recognized the girl immediately and the Indian as the same that had, a short time before, spoiled a sale for him and smashed a bottle of whiskey upon the floor of his back room.
He was surprised to see Wichita Billings at the post, and as she turned again in his direction he stepped quickly behind the corner of a building and waited there until she had passed.
The natural expression that mirrored in the face of “Dirty” Cheetim, whatever atrophied thing may have done questionable duty as his soul, was evil; but peculiarly unclean was the look in his eyes as he watched the girl walking briskly along the path that led to the officers’ quarters.
Presently his eyes wandered to the figure of the Apache brave riding across the parade on the pinto stallion, and his brows contracted in thought. Where had he seen that buck before? — a long time before. There was something mighty familiar about him — something that Cheetim had not noticed until he saw the Indian talking with Wichita Billings; but even so he failed to connect the associated ideas that had subconsciously aroused the suggestion of previous familiarity, and so, dismissing the matter from his mind, he went on about his affairs.
Geronimo rode back to the camp of the Be-don-ko-he in silence. It was as impossible for him to get the viewpoint of the white man as it was for the white man to get the viewpoint of the Apache. He felt that he had been treated with rank injustice and treachery. Geronimo was furious’, yet his stern, inscrutable face gave no evidence of what was passing in his savage brain. He did not rant nor rave, raising his voice in loud oaths, as might a white man under stress of similar circumstance.
Geronimo dismounted before his hogan and turned to Shoz- Dijiji and the others who had accompanied him. “Tell the braves of the Be-don-ko-he that Geronimo is going away from San Carlos,” he said. “Perhaps they would like to come and talk with Geronimo before he goes.”
As the three braves rode away through the village Geronimo sat down before the entrance to his hogan. “Geronimo cannot live in peace with thieves and liars, Morning Star,” he said to his wife. “Therefore we shall go away and live as Usen intended that we should live. He never meant that we should live with the white-eyed men.”
“We are going on the war trail again?” asked Sons-ee-ah-ray.
Geronimo shook his head. “No,” he replied. “If they will leave Geronimo alone he will not fight the pindah-lickoyee again. Geronimo wishes only to lead his own life in his own way far from any pindah-lickoyee. In that way only lies peace.”
“Sons-ee-ah-ray will be glad to leave San Carlos,” said the squaw. “She will be glad to go anywhere to get away from the white-eyed men. They are bad. Their women are bad, and ,they think because their women are bad that the Apache women are bad. The white-eyed men make bad talk to Sons-ee-ah-ray when she passes them on her way to the Agency. She will be glad not to hear this talk any more.
“Geronimo knows that Sons-ee-ah-ray, the mother of his children, is a good woman. Why, then, do the white-eyed men talk thus to her?”
The War Chief shook his head. “I do not know,” he said. “I do not understand the white-eyed men.”
When the warriors of the Be-don-ko-he gathered, many of the older men appeared apprehensive. They looked sad and worried but the young men were excited and gay. Many of the latter were already painting their faces, but when Geronimo saw this he frowned and shook his head.
“Geronimo is going away,” he said, “because he can no longer live under the conditions that the white-eyed men impose and still maintain his self respect; but he does not mean, as some of the young men seem to think, that he is going to take the war trail against the pindah-lickoyee.
“With his family he is going up somewhere around Fort Apache and live in the mountains where he will not have to see any white-eyes.”
“We will go with you!” said many of the Be-don-ko-he.
“No,” remonstrated Geronimo. “If you go with me the Agent will say that Geronimo has gone out again with his warriors, but if only Geronimo and his own family go the Agent cannot say that Geronimo has gone upon the war trail. “If you come with me they will send soldiers after us; and then there will be war, and already there have been enough of us killed. Therefore Geronimo goes alone.
“Shoz-Dijiji, my son, will remain here for a while and learn if the white-eyed men are going to make trouble because Geronimo has left San Carlos. If they do, he will bring the word to me; and then I shall know what next to do; but I shall not return to San Carlos to be treated like a fool and a child — no, not I, Geronimo, War Chief of all the Apaches!”
And so that night Geronimo, with all his family except Shoz-Dijiji, rode silently northward toward Fort Apache; and at San Carlos the Indians, the Agent and the soldiers slept in peaceful ignorance of this event that was so soon to lead to the writing of one of history’s bloodiest pages. After Geronimo had left, Shoz-Dijiji sought out Gian-nah-tah with whom he had had no opportunity to speak since the moment of their altercation in the Hog Ranch. In the heart of the Black Bear was only love for this friend of his childhood; and while he knew that Gian-nah-tah had been very angry with him at the time, he attributed this mostly to the effect of the whiskey he had drunk, believing that when this had worn off, and Gian-nah-tah had had time to reflect, he would harbor no ill will.
Shoz-Dijiji found his friend sitting alone over a tiny fire and came and squatted down beside him. Neither spoke, but that was nothing unusual. Near by, before her hogan, a squaw was praying to the moon. “Gun-ju-le, klego-m-ay,” she chanted.
At a little distance a warrior cast hoddentin into the air and prayed: “Gun-ju-le, chil-jilt, Si-chi-zi, gun-ju-le, inzayu, ijanale,” Be good, O Night; Twilight, be good; do not let me die.”Peace and quiet lay upon the camp of the Be-don-ko-he.
“Today,” said Shoz-Dijiji, “I recognized the white-eyed man who sells fire-water to the Apaches. He is the man who tried to steal the white-eyed girl that day that Gian-nah-tah and Shoz-Dijiji were scouting near the hogan of her father.
“I thought that I killed him that day; but. today I saw him again, selling fire-water to GIan-nah-tah. He is a very bad man. Some day I shall kill him; but I shall do it when no one is around to see, for the white-eyed fools would put me in prison as quickly for killing a bad man as a good.”
Gian-nah-tah made no reply. Shoz-Dijiji turned and looked into the face of his friend. “Is Gian-nah-tah still angry?” he asked.
Gian-nah-tah arose, turned around, and squatted down again with his back toward Shoz-Dijiji. The Black Bear shook his head sadly; then he stood up. For a moment he hesitated as though about to speak; but instead he turned, drew his blanket more closely about him, and walked away. His heart was heavy. During his short life he had seen many of his friends killed in battle; he had seen little Ish-kay-nay, his first love, die in his arms, slain by the bullet of a white man; he had seen the look of horror in the eyes of the white girl he had grown to love, when he had avowed that love; he had just seen his father and his mother driven by the injustices of the white conqueror from the society of their own kind; and now he had lost his best friend. The heart of Shoz-Dijiji, the Black Bear, was heavy indeed.
Wichita Billings was visiting in the home of Margaret Cullis at the post. The two were sitting in the modest parlor, the older woman sewing, t
he younger reading. Presently Wichita closed her book and laid it on the table.
“I can’t seem to get interested,” she said. “I don’t feel very ‘literary’ tonight.”
“You haven’t been yourself all day,” said Mrs. Cullis.” Aren’t you feeling well?”
“I feel all right, physically,” replied the girl, “but I’m blue.”
“About what?”
“0, nothing — I just feel blue. Didn’t you ever feel that way when there wasn’t any reason for it?”
“There usually is a reason.”
“I suppose so. Perhaps it’s in the air.” There was a silence that lasted a minute or two. Lieutenant King’s calling this evening.”
“I’m sure that shouldn’t make you blue, my dear girl,” exclaimed Margaret Cullis, laughing.
“Well, it doesn’t cheer me up much, because I know what he’s going to say; and I know what I’m going to answer. It’s always the same thing.” “I can’t see why you don’t love him, Wichita. It would be a wonderful match for you.”
“Yes, for me; but not for him. His people would be ashamed of me,”
“Don’t be silly! There isn’t any man or any family too good for you — I doubt if there is any good enough for you.”
“You’re a dear, but the fact remains that they are stiff-backed Bostonians with more culture than there is in the whole state that I came from and a family tree that started as a seedling in the Garden of Eden, while I got most of my education out of a mail order catalog; and if I ever had a family tree it must have been blown away by a Kansas cyclone while my folks were fighting Indians.
“And speaking of Indians, whom do you think I saw today?”
“Who?”
“Shoz-Dijiji!”
Margaret Cullis looked up quickly. Was it the intonation of the girl’s voice as she spoke the name! The older woman frowned and looked down at her work again. “What did he have to say?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
“Oh, you didn’t see him to talk with?”
Delphi Collected Works of Edgar Rice Burroughs (Illustrated) (Series Four Book 26) Page 597