“Chihuahua thinks only of the little farm the white-eyes let him work - like a woman,” scoffed Shoz-Dijiji. “I hate them. I shall not go back to live upon a reservation. I shall not go back to be laughed at by white-eyed men, to hear them call me a damn Siwash, to listen while they make fun of my gods and insult my mother and my sisters.”
“Shoz-Dijiji will go upon the war-trail alone and do battle with all the soldiers of two great nations?” sneered Chihuahua.
“Then Shoz-Dijiji will at least die like a man and a warrior,” replied the Black Bear .
“Have we not troubles enough without quarreling among ourselves?” demanded Geronimo.
“And now Gian-nah-tah is bringing more trouble into our camp,” said Chihuahua. “Look!” and he pointed toward the young warrior, who was walking toward them.
In each hand Gian-nah-tah carried a bottle of whiskey, and his slightly unsteady gait was fair evidence that he had been drinking. He approached the group of men, women, and children and extended one of the bottles toward Geronimo. The old chief took a long drink and passed the bottle to Na-chi-ta.
Shoz-Dijiji stood eyeing them silently. By no changed expression did he show either disapproval or its opposite, but when Na-chi-ta passed the whiskey on to him, after having drunk deeply, he shook his head and grinned.
“Why do you smile?” demanded Na-chi-ta.
“Because now I shall not turn back into Mexico alone,” replied the Black Bear.
“Why do you say that?” asked Geronimo.
The bottle went the rounds, though all did not drink. Chihuahua was one who did not.
“Where did you get this, Gian-nah-tah?” asked Geronimo.
“A white-eyed man is selling it just across the border in Mexico. He is selling it to the soldiers too. He says that they are boasting about what they are going to do to Geronimo and his band. They make much bad talk against you.”
“What do they say they are going to do to us?” demanded Geronimo, taking another drink.
“They are going to shoot us all as soon as we are across the border.”
Chihuahua laughed. “The foolish talk of drunken men,” he said.
“Many of the white-eyed soldiers are drunk,” continued Gian-nah-tah. “When they are drunk they may kill us. Let us turn back. If we must be killed let us be killed in battle and not shot down from behind by drunken white-eyes.”
“Now would be a good time to attack them,” said Na-chi-ta, “while they are drunk.”
“If we do not kill them they will kill us,” urged Gian-nah-tah. “Come!”
“Shut up, Gian-nah-tah!” commanded Shoz-Dijiji. “The strong water of the white-eyed men does not make you a war chief to lead the braves of the Shis-Inday into battle-it only makes you a fool.”
“Shoz-Dijiji calls Gian-nah-tah a fool?” demanded the young warrior angrily. “Shoz-Dijiji does not want to fight the pindah-lickoyee because Shoz-Dijiji is a coward and himself a pindah-lickoyee.”
Shoz-Dijiji’s eyes narrowed as he took a step toward Gian-nah-tah. The latter drew his great butcher knife, but he retreated. Then it was that Geronimo stepped between them. “If you want to kill,” he said, “there is always the enemy.”
“I do not want to kill Gian-nah-tah, my best friend,” said Shoz-Dijiji. “Perhaps it was the strong water of the pindah-lickoyee that spoke through the mouth of Gian-nah-tah. Tomorrow, when he is sober, Shoz-Dijiji will ask him; but no man may call Shoz-Dijiji a white-eyes and live. Juh learned that when Shoz-Dijiji killed him.”
“Shut up, Gian-nah-tah,” advised Na-chi-ta, “and go to the white-eyed fool who sold you this strong water and buy more. Here!” He handed Gian-nah-tah several pieces of silver money. “Get plenty.”
Many of the braves already felt the effects of the adulterated, raw spirits that Tribollet was selling them at ten dollars a gallon, and most of those that had been drinking were daubing their faces with war paint and boasting of what they would do to the soldiers of the pindah-lickoyee.
They greeted Gian-nah-tah with shouts of savage welcome when he returned with more whiskey, and as they drank they talked loudly of killing all the white soldiers first and then taking the war trail in a final campaign that would wipe out the last vestige of the white race from the land of the Shis-Inday.
Shoz-Dijiji looked on in sorrow — not because they were drunk or because they talked of killing the white-eyed people; but because he knew that if they were not stopped they would soon be so drunk that they could not even defend themselves in the event that the soldiers of the pindah-lickoyee set upon them, as persistent rumors from Tribollet’s ranch suggested might occur before dawn.
He went to Geronimo and urged him to make some effort to stop the drinking; but Geronimo, himself inflamed by drink, would do nothing. As a matter of fact there was really nothing that he could do since the Apache is a confirmed individualist who resents receiving orders from anyone.
Shoz-Dijiji considered the advisability of taking a few of the warriors who had not drunk to excess and leading them in a raid upon Tribollet’s ranch, but he had to abandon the idea because he knew that it would lead to killing and that that would bring the soldiers down upon their camp.
In the end he hit upon another plan; and shortly after, he was in the camp of the Apache scouts where he aroused Alchise and Ka-e-ten-na.
“Listen,” said Shoz-Dijiji, “to the sounds you can hear coming from the camp of Geronimo.”
“We hear them,” said Alchise. “Are you fools that you do not sleep when tomorrow you must march all day in the hot sun?”
“They are all drunk upon the tizwin of the white-eyes,” said Shoz-Dijiji. “If more of it is brought into the camp of Geronimo there will be trouble. Already many of the braves have put on the war paint. Shoz-Dijiji has come to you to ask that you go to Nan-tan-des-la-par-en and tell him that he must send soldiers to prevent the white-eyed fool from selling more fire water to the Apaches and to stop the stories that are being told to our people. Otherwise there will be trouble.”
“When did Shoz-Dijiji begin to fear trouble with the white-eyed men?” demanded Ka-e-ten-na.
“When he saw the warriors of his people getting so drunk that soon they will be unable to defend themselves, though not so drunk but that some one of them, who may be a bigger fool than the others, will certainly fire upon the first pindah-lickoyee he sees when dawn comes. That is when Shoz-Dijiji began to fear — not war but certain defeat.”
“Did Na-chi-ta send you with this message?” asked Alchise.
“Na-chi-ta is so drunk that he cannot stand upon his feet,” replied Shoz-Dijiji.
“We will go to Nan-tan-des-la-par-en,” said Ka-e-ien-na, “and ask him to let us take some scouts and stop the sale of this stuff to all Apaches.”
“Shoz-Dijiji will wait here until you return,” said the Black Bear.
As Shoz-Dijiji waited, the sounds that came to his ears indicated restlessness and activity in the camp of the white soldiers that lay at no great distance from that of the scouts, and these sounds aroused his suspicions, for at this hour of the night the camp should have been quiet. He read in them preparation for attack — treachery. He could not know that they were caused by a few drunken soldiers and portended nothing more serious than a few days in the guard house for the culprits when they reached the Post.
The false rumors that Tribollet and his men had spread among the renegades were working in the mind of Shoz-Dijiji, and he was already upon the point of returning to his own camp when Ka-e-ten-na and Alchise came back from their interview with Crook.
“Has Nan-tan-des-la-par-en told you to take warriors and stop the sale of fire water to the Apaches?”demanded Shoz-Dijiji.
“No,” replied Alchise.
“He is going to send white-eyed soldiers instead?” asked the Black Bear.
“He will send no one,” said Ka-e-ten-na.
“Why not?”
“We do not know.”
Shoz-Dijiji was worried when he
came again to the camp of the renegades. Na-chi-ta was lying helpless upon the ground. Geronimo was drunk, though he still could walk. Most of the braves were asleep. Shoz-Dijiji went at once to Geronimo.
“I have just come from the camp of the scouts,” he said. “I could hear the white-eyed soldiers preparing for battle. Perhaps they will attack us before dawn. Look at your warriors, Geronimo. They are all drunk. They cannot fight. All will be killed. You would not listen to Shoz-Dijiji then, but now you must. I am war chief of the Be-don-ko-he. You are war chief of all the Apaches, but you are too drunk to lead them in battle or to counsel them with wisdom. Therefore you shall listen to Shoz-Dijiji and do what he says. Only thus may we save our people from being wiped out by the soldiers of the pindah-lickoyee before chigo-na-ay has risen above the tree tops.”
The words of Shoz-Dijiji had a slightly sobering effect upon Geronimo. He looked about him. By the flickering light of dying fires he saw the flower of his fighting force lying in drunken stupor, prone upon the ground, like beasts.
Shoz-Dijiji stood with a sneer upon his lip. “The pindah-lickoyee want the Shis-Inday to come out of the mountains and live as they live,” he said. “They want the poor Apache to be like them. Here is the result. We have come out of the mountains, and already we are like the pindah-lickoyee. If we live among them long our women will be like their women; and then you will not see an Apache woman whose nose has not been cut off or an Apache man who is not always lying in the dirt, drunk.
“But that will not be for those of us who are here, Geronimo, if we stay here until after Tapida brings the new day, for we shall all be dead. The soldiers of the white-eyes are already preparing to attack us. How may drunken men defend their families and themselves? We shall all be killed if we do not go at once. I have spoken.”
Slowly Geronimo gathered his muddled wits. The words of Shoz-Dijiji took form within his brain. He saw the condition of his warriors, and he recalled not only the rumors that had come from Tribollet’s but also the treacherous attacks that had been made upon his people by the white-eyed soldiers in the past.
“There is yet time,” said Shoz-Dijiji. “The night is dark. If we leave at once and in silence we can be far away before they know that we have left. Another day, when our warriors are sober, we can fight them but not today.”
“Awake them all,” said Geronimo. “Gather the women and children. Tell them that we are going back into the mountains of Mexico. Tell them that we are not going to remain here to be murdered by our enemies or taken back to Bowie to be hanged.”
They did not all answer the summons of Geronimo. Na-chi-ta went but he did not know that he was going or where. They threw him across the back of a mule; and Shoz-Dijiji loaded Gian-nah-tah upon another, and Geronimo rode silently out through the night with these and eighteen other warriors, fourteen women, and two boys, down into the mountains of Mexico; and the results of months of the hardest campaign that, possibly, any troops in the history of warfare ever experienced were entirely nullified by one cheap white man with a barrel of cheap whiskey.
10. TWO THOUSAND DOLLARS FOR A HEAD
Down into the rugged mountain fastness of Sonora the remnants of Geronimo’s band of renegades hurried from the menace of the white man’s justice. Suffering from the after effects of Tribollet’s whiskey they marched in sullen silence, thinking only of escape, for the fighting spirit of a sick man is not wont to rise to any great heights.
For sixteen hours they marched with but a single brief rest, and it was again dark when they went into camp.
Water and a little food revived their spirits. There was even laughter, low pitched lest it reach across the night to the ears of an enemy.
Shoz-Dijiji squatted upon his haunches chewing upon a strip of jerked venison that was both dirty and “high” and that not only pleased his palate but gave him strength, renewing the iron tissue of his iron frame. Less fastidious, perhaps, than a civilized epicure in the preparation and serving of his food, yet, savage though he was, he appreciated the same delicate flavor of partial decay.
As he ate, a tall warrior came and stood before him. It was Gian-nah-tah. Shoz-Dijiji continued eating, in silence.
“At the kunh-gan-hay beside the soldiers of Nan-tan-des-la-par-en,” commenced Gian-nah-tah, presently, “the poisoned water of the pindah-lickoyee spoke through the mouth of Gian-nah-tah, saying words that Gian-nah-tah would not have said.” He stopped, waiting.
“Shoz-Dijiji knew that Gian-nah-tah, his best friend, did not speak those words,” replied Shoz-Dijiji. “It was the bad spirits that the white man puts into his strong water to make trouble between men. Gian-nah-tah is a fool to be tricked thus by the pindah-lickoyee.”
“Yes,” agreed Gian-nah-tah, “I am a fool.” Shoz-Dijiji scratched some criss-cross lines upon the ground where he squatted. With a bit of stick he scratched them. “These,” he said, “are the troubles that have come between Shoz-Dijiji and Gian-nah-tah — the bad talk — the bad thoughts.” With his palm he smoothed the ground. “Now they are gone,”he said. “Let us forget them.”He offered Gian-nah-tah a piece of venison, and his friend squatted beside him.
“Do you think the soldiers of the white-eyed men will follow us?” asked Gian-nah-tah.
Shoz-Dijiji shook his head. “I do not know,” he replied. “I offered hoddentin to the winds and to the night, and I prayed that Usen would make the hearts of the pindah-lickoyee good that they might return to their own country and leave us in peace.
“I asked the tzi-daltai that Nan-ta-do-tash blessed for me if the white-eyed soldiers were pursuing us, but I have received no answer.”
“Nan-tan-des-la-par-en said that if we did not come with him he would follow us and kill us all if it took fifty years,” reminded Gian-nah-tah.
Shoz-Dijiji laughed. “That is just talk,” he said. “Anyone can make big talk. For over three hundred years we have been fighting the pindah-lickoyee; and they have not killed us all, yet. Some day they will, but it will take more than fifty years. You and I shall have plenty of fighting before the last of the Shis-Inday is killed.”
“I do not know,” said Gian-nah-tah. “A spirit came to me while I slept the first night that we camped near the soldiers of Nan-tan-des-la-par-en. It was the spirit of my father. He said that he had waited a long time for me. He said that pretty soon I would come. I asked him when; but just then I awoke, and that frightened him away. Perhaps it will be tomorrow — who knows?”
“Do not say that, Gian-nah-tah,” said Shoz-Dijiji. “Already have I seen too many of my friends go. One hundred and thirty four we were when we went out from San Carlos less than twelve moons ago. Today we are thirty eight. The others are dead, or prisoners of the pindah-lickoyee. The heart of Shoz-Dijiji is sad, as are the hearts of all Apaches. The hand of every man is against us — even the hands of our brothers. We must not think of death. Gian-nah-tah and Shoz-Dijiji must live for one another. Surely Usen will not take everything that we love from us!”
“Usen has forgotten the Apache,” said Gian-nah-tah, sadly.
For a month the renegades rested and recuperated in the high sierras, and then one day a scout brought word to Geronimo that he had sighted three troops of United States Cavalry as they were going into camp a day’s march to the north.
Geronimo shook his head. “They are always talking of peace,” he said, “and always making war upon us. They will not leave us alone.” He turned to Shoz-Dijiji. “Go to the camp of the pindah-lickoyee and try to talk with some of their scouts. Take Gian-nah-tah with you. Do not trust too much in the honor of the scouts, but learn all that you can without telling them anything.”
Shoz-Dijiji and Gian-nah-tah arose. “That is all?” asked the young war chief of the Be-don-ko-he.
“That is all,” replied Geronimo. The soft rustle of their war moccasins faded into silence. The night swallowed them. Geronimo sat with bowed head, his eyes upon the ground. A girl looked after them and sighed. Then she cast hoddentin in the directio
n they had gone and whispered prayers for the safety of one of them. Also she prayed that some day she would be the mother of warriors and that Gian-nah-tah would be their father.
In four hours the two warriors covered the distance that it would take a troop of cavalry all of the following day to cover; but they travelled where no horse might travel, over trails that no cavalryman knew. They trod in places where only mountain sheep and Apaches had trod before.
Quiet lay upon the camp of — th Cavalry. Three weary sentries; softly cursing because they must walk their posts to save their horses, circled the lonely bivouac. At a little distance lay the camp of the Apache scouts. The dismal voice of an owl broke the silence. It came from the summit of a low bluff south of the camp. At intervals it was repeated twice.
One of the sentries was a rookie. “Gosh,” he soliloquized, “but that’s a lonesome sound!”
Once more came the eerie cry — this time, apparently, from the camp of the scouts.
Number One sentry was a veteran. He stepped quickly from his post to the side of his top sergeant, who lay wrapped in a sweaty saddle blanket with his head on a McClellan.
“H-s-st! McGuire!” he whispered.
“Wot the’ ell?” demanded the sergeant, sitting up.
“Hostiles! I just heard ’em signalling to our Siwashes — three owl calls and an answer.”
The sergeant came to his feet, strapping his belt about his hips. He picked up his carbine. “Git back on your post an’ keep your ears unbuttoned,” he directed. “I’ll mosey out that way a bit an’ listen. Maybe it was a owl.”
Shoz-Dijiji and Gian-nah-tah crept silently down the face of the bluff and approached the camp of the scouts. There was no moon, and light clouds obscured the stars. It was very dark. A figure loomed suddenly before them. “Who are you?” it demanded in a whisper that could not have been heard ten feet away.
“We are Be-don-ko-he,” replied Shoz-Dijiji. “We bring a message from Geronimo.”
Delphi Collected Works of Edgar Rice Burroughs (Illustrated) (Series Four Book 26) Page 604