“Geronimo is going away,” he said, “because he can no longer live under the conditions that the white-eyed men impose and still maintain his self-respect; but he does not mean, as some of the young men seem to think, that he is going to take the war trail against the pindah-lickoyee.
“With his family he is going up somewhere around Fort Apache and live in the mountains where he will not have to see any white-eyes.”
“We will go with you!” said many of the Be-don-ko-he.
“No,” remonstrated Geronimo. “If you go with me the Agent will say that Geronimo has gone out again with his warriors, but if only Geronimo and his own family go the Agent cannot say that Geronimo has gone upon the war trail.
“If you come with me they will send soldiers after us; and then there will be war, and already there have been enough of us killed. Therefore Geronimo goes alone.
“Shoz-Dijiji, my son, will remain here for a while and learn if the white-eyed men are going to make trouble because Geronimo has left San Carlos. If they do, he will bring the word to me; and then I shall know what next to do; but I shall not return to San Carlos to be treated like a fool and a child—no, not I, Geronimo, War Chief of all the Apaches!”
And so that night Geronimo, with all his family except Shoz-Dijiji, rode silently northward toward Fort Apache; and at San Carlos the Indians, the Agent, and the soldiers slept in peaceful ignorance of this event that was so soon to lead to the writing of one of history’s bloodiest pages.
After Geronimo had left, Shoz-Dijiji sought out Gian-nah-tah with whom he had had no opportunity to speak since the moment of their altercation in the Hog Ranch. In the heart of the Black Bear was only love for this friend of his childhood; and while he knew that Gian-nah-tah had been very angry with him at the time, he attributed this mostly to the effect of the whiskey he had drunk, believing that when this had worn off, and Gian-nah-tah had had time to reflect, he would harbor no ill will.
Shoz-Dijiji found his friend sitting alone over a tiny fire and came and squatted down beside him. Neither spoke, but that was nothing unusual. Near by, before her hogan, a squaw was praying to the moon. “Gun-ju-le, klego-na-ay,” she chanted.
At a little distance a warrior cast hoddentin into the air and prayed: “Gun-ju-le, chil-jilt, si-chi-zi, gun-ju-le, inzayu, ijanale,”—“Be good, O Night; Twilight, be good; do not let me die.” Peace and quiet lay upon the camp of the Be-don-ko-he.