Shoz-Dijiji, apparently unmoved, looked the white man in the eyes. “She my friend,” he said. “I come when I please.”
Billings fairly danced about in rage. “If I catch you around here again,” he spluttered, “I’ll put a bullet in you where it’ll do the most good.”
“Pindah-lickoyee,” said the Apache, “you make big talk to a war chief of the Be-don-ko-he. When Shoz-Dijiji comes again, then may-be-so you not talk so big about bullets any more,” and wheeling his little pinto stallion about he rode away.
Attracted by the loud voice of Billings a cow-hand, loitering near the bunk house, had walked down to the gate, arriving just as Shoz-Dijiji left.
“Say,” he drawled, “why that there’s the Injun that give me water that time an’ tol’ me how to git here.”
“So he’s the damn skunk wot stole the ewe-neck roan!” exclaimed Billings.
“Yes,” snapped Wichita, angrily, “and he’s the ‘damn skunk’ that saved Luke’s life that time. He’s the ‘damn skunk’ that kept ‘Dirty’ Cheetim from gettin’ me three years ago. He’s the ‘damn skunk’ that saved me from Tats-ah-das-ay-go down at the Pringe ranch. He’s the ‘damn skunk’ that heard this mornin’ that Cheetim was after me again with a bunch of his bums and rode down to Pimos Canyon from San Carlos and took me away from them and brought me home. You ought to be damn proud o’ yourself, Dad!”
Billings looked suddenly crestfallen and Luke Jensen very much embarrassed. He had never heard the boss talked to like this before, and he wished he had stayed at the bunk house where he belonged.
“I’m damned sorry,” said Billings after a moment of silence. “If I see that Apache again I’ll tell him so, but ever since they got poor Mason I see red every time I drops my eyes on one of ’em. I’m shore sorry, Chita.”
“He won’t ever know it,” said the girl. “Shoz-Dijiji won’t ever come back again.”