“Today,” said Shoz-Dijiji, “I recognized the white-eyed man who sells fire-water to the Apaches. He is the man who tried to steal the white-eyed girl that day that Gian-nah-tah and Shoz-Dijiji were scouting near the hogan of her father.
“I thought that I killed him that day; but today I saw him again, selling fire-water to Gian-nah-tah. He is a very bad man. Some day I shall kill him; but I shall do it when no one is around to see, for the white-eyed fools would put me in prison as quickly for killing a bad man as a good.”
Gian-nah-tah made no reply. Shoz-Dijiji turned and looked into the face of his friend. “Is Gian-nah-tah still angry?” he asked.
Gian-nah-tah arose, turned around, and squatted down again with his back toward Shoz-Dijiji. The Black Bear shook his head sadly; then he stood up. For a moment he hesitated as though about to speak; but instead he turned, drew his blanket more closely about him, and walked away. His heart was heavy. During his short life he had seen many of his friends killed in battle; he had seen little Ish-kay-nay, his first love, die in his arms, slain by the bullet of a white man; he had seen the look of horror in the eyes of the white girl he had grown to love, when he had avowed that love; he had just seen his father and his mother driven by the injustices of the white conqueror from the society of their own kind; and now he had lost his best friend. The heart of Shoz-Dijiji, the Black Bear, was heavy indeed.
Wichita Billings was visiting in the home of Margaret Cullis at the post. The two were sitting in the modest parlor, the older woman sewing, the younger reading. Presently Wichita closed her book and laid it on the table.
“I can’t seem to get interested,” she said. “I don’t feel very ‘literary’ tonight.”
“You haven’t been yourself all day,” said Mrs. Cullis. “Aren’t you feeling well?”
“I feel all right, physically,” replied the girl; “but I’m blue.”
“About what?”
“O, nothing—I just feel blue. Didn’t you ever feel that way when there wasn’t any reason for it?”