“I seized her and pressed her close; I put my mouth upon her mouth. And then she struck at me and tried to push me away, and I saw fear in her eyes; and something more terrible than fear—loathing—as though I were unclean.
“Then I let her go; and I came away, but I left my heart and happiness behind. Shoz-Dijiji has left to him only his pride and his hate—his hate of the pindah-lickoyee.”
“If you hate the white-eyed girl now, it is well,” said Gian-nah-tah. “The pindah-lickoyee are low born and fools. They are not fit for an Apache!”
“I do not hate the white-eyed girl, Wichita,” said Shoz-Dijiji, sadly. “If I did I should not be unhappy. I love her.”
Gian-nah-tah shook his head. “There are many pretty girls of the Shis-Inday,” he said presently, “who look with bright eyes upon Shoz-Dijiji.”
“I do not love them,” replied the Black Bear. “Let us talk no more of these things. Gian-nah-tah is my friend. I have spoken. Let us go and listen to the talk of Geronimo and the other old warriors.”
“That is better talk for men,” agreed Gian-nah-tah.
Together they strolled over and joined the group of warriors that surrounded the old war chief of the Apaches. White Horse, Geronimo’s brother, was speaking.
“There is much talk,” he said, “among the Indians at San Carlos that the chiefs of the white-eyed soldiers are going to put Geronimo and many other of our leaders in prison.”
“They put me in prison once before and kept me there for four months,” said Geronimo. “They never told me why they kept me there or why they let me out.”