“Well, to tell you the truth, Shoz-Dijiji,” admitted the girl, “I did not dream that there was a renegade within a hundred miles of here.”
“When the Shis-Inday are on the war-trail they are like your God—they are here, there, and everywhere.”
“Are there others with you, Shoz-Dijiji?”
“No, I am alone.”
“What are you doing here? Were you—were you coming to the ranch, Shoz-Dijiji?” she asked, hesitatingly. “Were you coming to see me?” There was potential gladness in her voice.
“Shoz-Dijiji has been scouting,” replied the Apache. “He is returning to the camp of Geronimo.”
“But you were going to stop and see me, Shoz-Dijiji,” she insisted.
“No. It would have made trouble. Your father does not like Shoz-Dijiji, and he would like to kill a renegade. Shoz-Dijiji does not wish to be killed. Therefore there would be trouble.”
“My father is sorry for the things he said to you, Shoz-Dijiji. Come to the ranch, and he will tell you so. He was angry because he was very fond of Mason; and you know that they had just found Mason murdered—and scalped.”
“Shoz-Dijiji knows. He knows more about that than your father. Shoz-Dijiji knows that it was not an Apache that killed Mason.”