As Wichita waited for her foreman her thoughts were overcast by clouds of sorrow and regret. The animosities that were directed upon Shoz-Dijiji were colored by the shame she felt for having permitted her heart to surrender itself to an Indian. That she had never openly admitted the love that she had once harbored for a savage did not reconcile her, nor did the fact that she had definitely and permanently uprooted the last vestige of this love and nurtured hatred in its stead completely clear her conscience.
It angered her that even while she vehemently voiced her belief that Shoz-Dijiji had killed her father she still had doubts that refused to die. She was bitter in the knowledge that though she had suggested that he was stealing her cattle, deep in her heart she could not bring herself to believe it of him.
Her somber reveries were interrupted by the approach of Kreff.
“There are a couple of things I wanted to speak to you about, ‘Smooth,’ ” said the girl.
“Fire away, Chita,” said the man, with easy familiarity.
“In the first place I want you to pass the word around that the reward for bringing in that Apache is off.”
“Why?” demanded the man.
“That’s my business,” replied the girl, shortly.
The words and her tone reminded Kreff of the dead Boss—she was her father all over—and he said no more.
“The other thing is this report about cattle stealing,” she continued.