“Shoz-Dijiji buy,” replied the Apache. “He give you a horse and—your life. You sell?”
“You’ve bought some cattle, Shoz-Dijiji,” exclaimed King; “but I can’t understand you. You are not like any other Indian I ever heard of. Why have you done this?”
“Two men drive cattle easier than one,” replied the Apache.
“Yes, I know that; but why are you giving me a chance to escape when you know that I’ll go right back to chasing you and fighting you again? Is it because of Wichita Billings?”
“Shoz-Dijiji no sabe English,” grunted the Indian. “Now you go!” and he pointed back down the canyon along the trail they had just come over.
King wheeled his horse around. “Good-bye, Shoz-Dijiji,” he said. “Perhaps some day I can repay you.”
“Wait!” said the Indian and handed the white man his pistol. Then he sat his horse watching until a turn in the canyon took the other from his sight.
Far away Luis Mariel rode with “B” Troop of the ——th. He had not led the soldiers upon the trail of his friend, the Apache Devil.
