Luke returned his revolver to its holster. “Come on down,” he said. “I remember you.”
Shoz-Dijiji spoke to Nejeunee, who scrambled to his feet; and a moment later the pinto stallion and its rider were coming down the hillside.
“We thought you was dead,” said Luke.
“No. Shoz-Dijiji been long time in Sonora.”
“Still on the war path?” asked the cowboy.
“Geronimo make treaty with the Mexicans and with your General Miles,” explained the Apache. “He promise we never fight again against the Mexicans or the Americans. Shoz-Dijiji keep the treaty Geronimo made. Shoz-Dijiji will not fight unless they make him. Even the coyote will fight for his life.”
“What you come back here fer, Shoz-Dijiji?” asked Luke.
“I come to see Wichita Billings. Mebby so I get job here. What you think?”
Many thoughts crowded themselves rapidly through the mind of Luke Jensen in the instant before he replied and foremost among them was the conviction that this man could not be the murderer of Jefferson Billings. Had he been he would have known that suspicion would instantly attach to him from the fact that Wichita had seen him near the ranch the day her father was killed and that on that same day the pony he now rode had been stolen from the east pasture.
“Well, what do you think about it, Shoz-Dijiji?” parried Luke.