“What is it?”
“He wants the soldiers to go back to their own country and leave him alone. He is not fighting the pindah-lickoyee. If they will go away he will not again raid in Arizona or New Mexico.”
“You are Shoz-Dijiji;” said the scout “I am glad you came. We have word for Geronimo and all that are with him. His fight is hopeless. He had better come in. If he does, perhaps they will not kill him. If he stays out he is sure to be killed. Every one of his warriors will be killed. Tell him to come in.”
“Why do you think we will be killed?They have not killed us yet, and they have been trying to ever since we were born.”
“Now they will,” insisted the scout, “for they have offered to pay fifty dollars for the head of every warrior that is brought in and two thousand dollars for the head of Geronimo. There are Apaches who would kill their own fathers for fifty dollars.”
“You do not kill us,” said Shoz-Dijiji, “and our heads are worth one hundred dollars.”
“Give thanks to Usen, then, that he sent me to meet you and not another,” replied the scout.
“What are the plans of the pindah-lickoyee?” asked Shoz-Dijiji.
“Their orders are to get Geronimo and all his band. The Mexicans are helping them. It was the Mexicans who invited them down here to catch you.”
“They shall pay,” growled Shoz-Dijiji. “So old Nan-tan-des-la-par-en will pay fifty dollars for my head, eh?” said Gian-nah-tah. “Very well, I shall go and get his head for nothing.”
“It was not Nan-tan-des-la-par-en,” said the scout. “He is no longer war chief of the pindah-lickoyee. They have taken him away and sent another. His name is Miles. It is he who has offered the money for your heads. He has ordered out many soldiers to follow you and catch you. Here there are three troops of the — th Cavalry; Lawton is coming with Apache scouts, cavalry, and infantry. As fast as men and horses are tired they will send fresh ones to replace them. A few men cannot fight against so many and win. That is why so many of us have joined the scouts. It is not that we love the white-eyed ones any better than you do. We know when we are beaten — that is all. We would live in peace. By going out you make trouble for us all. We want to put an end to all this trouble.”
“I, too, like peace,” said Shoz-Dijiji; “but better even than peace I like freedom. If you are content to be the slave of the pindah-lickoyee that is your own affair. Shoz-Dijiji would rather be forever on the war trail than be a slave. If you are men you will leave the service of the white-eyes and join Geronimo.”
“Yes,” said Gian-nah-tah, “take that message to our brothers who have turned against us.”
“Come!” said Shoz-Dijiji, and the two warriors turned back toward the camp of Geronimo.
1st Sergeant McGuire, “K” Troop, — th Cavalry’ strolled back to his blankets. On the way he paused to speak to Number One. “The next time you hear a owl,” he said, “you just telegraph President Cleveland and let me sleep.”
Chigo-na-ay was an hour high when Shoz-Dijiji and Gian-nah- tah stood again before the rude hogan of Geronimo deep hid upon the rough breast of the Mother of Mountains. The old war chief listened in silence while they narrated with primitive fidelity every detail of their interview with the scout.
“Fifty dollars for the head of a warrior, two thousand dollars for the head of Geronimo!” he exclaimed. “It is thus that they offer a bounty for the heads of wolves and coyotes. They treat us as beasts and expect us to treat them as men. When they war among themselves do they offer money for the head of an enemy? No! They reserve that insult for the Apache.
“They will win because Usen has deserted us. And when they have killed us all there will be none to stop them from stealing the rest of our land. That is what they want. That is why they make treaties with us and then break them, to drive us upon the war trail that they may have an excuse to kill us faster. That is why they offer money for our heads.
“Oh, Usen! What have the Shis-Inday done that you should be angry with them and let their enemies destroy them?”
“Do not waste your breath praying to Usen,” said Gian-nah- tah. “Pray to the God of the pindah-lickoyee. He is stronger than Usen.”
“Perhaps you are right,” said Geronimo, sadly. “He is a wicked God, but his medicine is stronger than the medicine of Usen.”
“I,” said Shoz-Dijiji, “shall pray always to the god of my fathers. I want nothing of the pindah-lickoyee or their god. I hate them all.”
A brave, moving at an easy run, approached the camp and stopped before Geronimo.
“Soldiers are coming,” he said. “Their scouts have followed the tracks of Shoz-Dijiji and Gian-nah-tah.”
“Only Apaches could trail us,” said Geronimo. “If our brothers had remained loyal and taken the war trail with us the pindah-lickoyee could not conquer us in a thousand rains.”
“There is a place where we can meet them,” said the brave who had brought the word, “and stop them.”
“I know,” replied Geronimo. He called four warriors to him. “Take the women and the boys,” he said, “and cross over the summit to the burned pine by the first water. Those of us who live will join you there after the battle.”
Stripped to breech-cloth and moccasins, eighteen painted savages filed silently through the rough mountains. A scout preceded them. Behind Geronimo walked the Apache Devil, his blue face banded with white. Stern, grim, terrible men these — hunted as beasts are hunted, retaliating as only a cornered beast retaliates — asking no quarter and giving none.
Equipped by civilization with the best of weapons and plenty of ammunition and by nature with high intelligence, courage, and shrewdness they had every advantage except that of numbers over any enemy that might take the field against them.
They stopped the — th Cavalry that day as they had stopped other troops before and without the loss of a man, and with the coming of night had vanished among the rocks of their beloved mountains and rejoined their women in the new camp by the burned pine at the first water beyond the summit.
Stern, grim, relentless, the cavalry pursued. Cooperating with them were the troops of Governor Torres of Sonora. The renegades were hard pressed. Skirmishes were of almost daily occurrence now. And then Lawton came with his hand picked force of seasoned veterans.
It was May again. For a year this handful of savage warriors and women and children had defied, eluded, and ofttimes defeated the forces of two civilized nations. The military strategy of their leader had been pitted against that of a great American general and proved superior. A score of West Pointers had exhausted their every resource and failed, but they were at last nearing their goal — victory seemed imminent. Miles and Lawton would receive the plaudits of their countrymen; and yet, if the truth were known, Miles and Lawton might have continued to pursue Geronimo and his band to the day of their deaths, and without success, had it not been that Apache turned against Apache.
The Shis-Inday may date the beginning of the end from the day that the first Indian Scouts were organized.
Hunted relentlessly, given no opportunity to rest because their every haunt, their every trail, their every hiding place was as well known to the scouts who pursued them as it was to themselves, they found themselves at last practically surrounded.
With no opportunity to hunt they were compelled to kill their ponies for sustenance until at last only Nejeunee was left.
Geronimo sat in council after a day of running battle.
“The warriors of the pindah-lickoyee and the Mexicans are all about us,” he said. “If we can break through and cross the mountains into Chihuahua perhaps we can escape them. Then we must separate and go in different directions. They will hear of us here today and there tomorrow. They will hurry from one place to another. Their horses will become tired and their soldiers footsore. Their force will be broken up into small parties. It will be easier for us to elude them. Tonight we shall move east. A camp of the enemy lies directly in our path, but if we can pass
it before dawn we shall be in mountains where no cavalry can follow and tomorrow we shall be in Chihuahua.
“There is one pony left. Its meat will carry us through until we can find cattle in Chihuahua.”
There was silence. Every warrior, every woman knew that Shoz-Dijiji had repeatedly refused to permit the killing of the little pinto stallion for food.
“Nejeunee is more than a war pony,” Shoz-Dijiji had once said to Geronimo. “He is my friend. I will not eat my friend. Nor permit anyone to eat my friend.”
Glances stole around the circle in search of Shoz-Dijiji. He was not there.
Up toward the camp of the enemy — the camp that stood between the renegades and Chihuahua — a painted warrior rode a pinto stallion. A gentle May wind blew down to the nostrils of the man and his mount. To Nejeunee it carried the scent of his kind from the picket line of the -th Cavalry. He pricked up his ears and nickered. Shoz-Dijiji slid from his back, slipped the primitive bridle from about his lower jaw and slapped him on the rump.
“Good-bye, Nejeunee,” he whispered; “the pindah-lickoyee may kill you, but they will not eat you.”
Slowly the Apache walked back toward the camp of his people. Like the stones upon the grave of Ish-kay-nay, many and heavy, his sorrows lay upon his heart.
“Perhaps, after all,” he mused, “Gian-nah-tah is right and Usen has forgotten the Apaches. I have prayed to him in the high places; I have offered hoddentin to him upon the winds of the morning and the evening; I have turned a deaf ear to the enemies who bring us a new god. Yet one by one the friends that I love are taken from me. Oh, Usen, before they are all gone take Shoz-Dijiji! Do not leave him alone without friends in a world filled with enemies!”
“Where is Shoz-Dijiji ?” demanded Geronimo, his blue eyes sweeping the circle before him. “Gian-nah-tah, where is Shoz-Dijiji?”
“Here is Shoz-Dijiji!” said a voice from the darkness; and as they looked up, the war chief of the Be-don-ko-he stepped into the dim, flickering light of their tiny fire. “Shoz-Dijiji,” said Geronimo, “there is but one pony left. It is Nejeunee. He must be killed for food. The others are all gone.”
“Nejeunee is gone, also,” said Shoz-Dijiji.
“Gone?”
“I have told you many times that no one would ever eat Nejeunee while Shoz-Dijiji lived. I have taken him away. What are you going to do about it?”
Geronimo bowed his head. “Even my son has turned against me,” he said, sadly.
“Those are not true words, Geronimo,” replied Shoz-Dijiji. “Nejeunee was more to me than a great war pony. When Shoz-Dijiji was a youth and Nejeunee a colt, Shoz-Dijiji broke him. Little Ish-kay-nay rode upon his back. It was Ne-jeunee that was tied before the hogan of her father. It was Nejeunee that Ish-kay-nay led to water and fed the next morning. Nejeunee has carried me through many battles. His fleet feet have borne me from the clutches of many an enemy. He has been the friend of Shoz-Dijiji as well as his war pony. Now he is old and yet there is not a fleeter or braver pony in the land of the Shis-Inday. He deserves better of me than to be killed and eaten.
“Geronimo says that Shoz-Dijiji has turned against him. Every day Shoz-Dijiji offers his life for Geronimo, and all that he has asked in return is the life of his friend.”
“Say no more,” said Na-chi-ta, the son of Cochise. “Let Shoz-Dijiji have the life of his friend. We have been hungry before — we can be hungry again. It does not kill an Apache to be hungry. We are not pindah-lickoyee.”
11. A RED HERO
Dawn was breaking as the last of the renegades crept past the camp of the enemy, where the troopers, already astir an hour, stood to horse. It was known that the camp of the renegades lay just below them, surrounded. A sudden, surprise sortie at dawn would either overwhelm them or send them scattering into the arms of other troops stationed to cut off their retreat in any direction. It began to look as though Geronimo and his band were to be wiped out or captured at last. Two scouts had gone down toward the camp of the Apaches to investigate. The commanding officer was impatiently awaiting their return. Presently it would be too light for a surprise attack.
The officers were congratulating their commander and themselves upon the nice work that had brought old Geronimo into a trap at last — a trap from which he could not conceivably escape. They were also talking about the pinto stallion that had wandered up to their picket line during the night.
“I know that pony, sir,” said Lieutenant King to the commanding officer, “and I know the Indian who owns him — he saved my life once. If it is possible, sir, I should like very much to take the pony back to Arizona with me. There is a rancher there whom I believe would be very glad to have him and take care of him.”
“Well, it’s not exactly regular, Mr. King, but perhaps the pony was stolen from this rancher — eh?” the C. 0. grinned.
“Perhaps,” agreed King.
“Very well, you may return it to its owner.”
“Thank you, sir!”
“Here are the scouts,” said the C. 0. “Return to your troops, and be ready to move out at once!”
Two Apaches approached the commanding officer. They wore the red head-bands of government scouts.
“Well?” demanded the officer. “Did you find Geronimo?”
“Him gone,” said one of the scouts.
“Gone! Where in hell has he gone?”
“Mebby so there,” he pointed to the canyon behind them.
“Hell! He couldn’t have gone there. What do you suppose we been doing here?”
“Me no sabe,” replied the Apache. “Him gone — there!”
“How do you know?”
“Me follow tracks.”
“You sure?”
“Sure!”
“How long?”
“Mebby so half hour.”
The officer turned to his chief of scouts. “Did you hear that? Slipped through our fingers again. The old devil! Get after him at once. Pick up the trail. Keep after him. We’ll follow. If you get in touch with him don’t attack. Just keep in touch with him until we come up.”
“Yes, sir!”
Two scouts preceded Geronimo’s little band up the canyon that would take them to the summit and over into Chihuahua. Precipitous walls hemmed them in on both sides, effectually keeping them to the bottom of the canyon. Here the going was good; but, also, it would be good going for horses and no escape for the fleeing renegades should they be overtaken. They were marching rapidly, needing no urging, for each of them knew the life and death necessity for speed.
Behind the two scouts came the women and the two boys. All the fighting men except the two scouts were in the rear. A little behind the others came Gian-nah-tah and three fellows. These would be the first to sight the enemy and give the word that would permit the main body to take a position from which they might best offer a defense. But half a mile remained of level going; then the canyon proper terminated in tumbled, terraced ledges leading upward among great boulders and tortured strata toward the summit that was their goal. Once they reached these ledges no cavalry could pursue.
The commanding officer of the pursuing — th knew this and sent one troop ahead with orders to overtake the renegades at all costs before they reached the sanctuary of those rock strewn ledges. With clanking accouterments and the clash of iron shod hoofs on rocky ground “B” Troop galloped up the canyon, close upon the heels of the Apache scouts.
Just beyond a turn the canyon narrowed, “the beetling cliffs approaching close and the rubble at their base leaving a level path scarce ten feet wide. It was at this point that Gian-nah- tah sighted the leading scout. A half mile more and the renegades would have been safe — just a few minutes and the women and the main body could all be hidden among the boulders at the top of the first terrace, where a thousand cavalrymen could not dislodge them.
Gian-nah-tah turned and fired at the first red banded scout. Beyond the scout Gian-nah-tah now saw the leading horsemen of “B” Troop rounding the turn in th
e canyon.
He called to one of his fellows. “Go to Geronimo,” he said. “Tell him to hurry. Gian-nah-tah can hold them off until all are among the rocks.”
He knelt upon the red blanket he had thrown off when battle seemed imminent and took careful aim. His shot brought down the horse of a cavalryman. With loud yells “B” Troop came tearing on. Those who rode in front fired as they charged. A bullet passed through Gian-nah-tah’s shoulder. The Apache fired rapidly, but he could not stem that avalanche of plunging horses and yelling men.
Another bullet passed through his chest; but still he knelt there, firing; holding the pass while his people fled to safety. The leading troopers were almost upon him. In an instant he would be ridden down! But he had not held them yet! If they passed him now they would overtake the little band before it won to safety.
He dropped his rifle and seizing the red blanket in both hands arose and waved it in the faces of the oncoming horses. They swerved — they turned, stumbling and plunging among the loose rock of the rubble heaps. Two fell and others piled upon them. For minutes — precious minutes — all was confusion; then they came on again.And again Gian-nah-tah flourished the red blanket in the faces of the horses, almost from beneath their feet. Again the frightened animals wheeled and fought to escape. Once again there was delay.
Another bullet pierced Gian-nah-tah’s body. Weak from loss of blood and from the shock of wounds he could no longer stand, kneeling, he held the pass against fifty men. A fourth bullet passed through him — through his right lung — and, coughing blood, he turned them back again. Through the yelling and the chaos of the fight the troop commander had been trying to extricate himself from the melee and call his men back. Finally he succeeded. The troop was drawn off a few yards.
“Sergeant,” said the captain, “dismount and use your carbine on that fellow. Don’t miss!”
Gian-nah-tah, kneeling, saw what they were doing. but he did not care. - He had held them. His people were safe!
Delphi Collected Works of Edgar Rice Burroughs (Illustrated) (Series Four Book 26) Page 605