As they met, the Black Bear seized the white man’s rifle and wrenched it from his grasp. “Now I kill him,” he announced.
“No! Oh, no!” cried Wichita, stepping between them.
“Why not?” demanded Shoz-Dijiji. “He steal you, eh?”
“Yes, but you mustn’t kill him,” replied the girl. “He came forward under the protection of your white flag.”
“White flag for you—not for dirty coyote,” the Black Bear assured her. “I give him his rifle, then. Him go back. Then I get him.”
“No, Shoz-Dijiji, you must let him go. He doesn’t deserve it, I’ll admit; but it would only bring trouble to you and your people. The troops are already out after Geronimo. If there is a killing here there is no telling what it will lead to.”
“No sabe white-eyed men,” said Shoz-Dijiji disgustedly. “Kill good Indian, yes; kill bad white-eye, no.” He shrugged. “Well, you say no kill, no kill.” He turned to the white man. “Get out, pronto! You sabe? Get out San Carlos. Shoz-Dijiji see you San Carlos again, kill. Get!”
“Gimme my rifle and six-gun,” growled the white, sullenly.
Shoz-Dijiji laid his hand on Wichita’s arm as she was about to return the man’s six-shooter. “Shut up, and hit the trail, white man,” he snapped.
The other hesitated a moment, as though about to speak, looked into the savage face of the Apache, and then started down Pimos Canyon toward the main trail just as Gian-nah-tah rode up leading the girl’s horse.