“Not much chance that they will attack the post,” said King.
“I know that, but the fact remains that a black night always suggests the possibility to me.”
“I’ll admit that the sentries do suggest a larger assurance of safety on a night like this,” said King. “We at least know that we shall have a little advance information before any Apache is among us.”
Numbers Three and Four were mounted posts, and at the very instant that King was speaking a shadowy form crept between the two sentries as they rode slowly in opposite directions along their posts. It was Shoz-Dijiji.
Though the Apache had demonstrated conclusively that Wichita Billings’ intuitive aversion to dark nights might be fully warranted, yet in this particular instance no danger threatened the white inhabitants of the army post, as Shoz-Dijiji’s mission was hostile only in the sense that it was dedicated to espionage.
Geronimo had charged him with the duty of ascertaining the attitude of the white officers toward the departure of the War Chief from the reservation, and with this purpose in view the Black Bear had hit upon the bold scheme of entering the post and reporting Geronimo’s departure in person that he might have first hand knowledge of Nan-tan-des-la-par-en’s reaction.
He might have come in openly in the light of day without interference, but it pleased him to come as he did as a demonstration of the superiority of Apache cunning and of his contempt for the white man’s laws.
He moved silently in the shadows of buildings, making his way toward the adobe shack that was dignified by the title of Headquarters. Once he was compelled to stop for several minutes in the dense shadow at the end of a building as he saw two figures approaching slowly. Nearer and nearer they came. Shoz-Dijiji saw that one was an officer, a war chief of the pindah-lickoyee, and the other was a woman. They were talking earnestly. When they were quite close to Shoz-Dijiji the white officer stopped and laid a hand upon the arm of his companion.
“Wait, Wichita,” he said. “Before we go in can’t you give me some hope for the future? I’m willing to wait. Don’t you think that some day you might care for me a little?”
The girl walked on, followed by the man. “I care for you a great deal, Ad,” Shoz-Dijiji heard her say in a low voice just before the two passed out of his hearing; “but I can never care for you in the way you wish.” That, Shoz-Dijiji did not hear.